Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


HFO  ft 
OCT  1  3  1925 

JUL  271926 
JAN  2  7  1927 


MAY  2  2   1929 


JUN  1      19JS1 


Form  L-9-15»/-8,'24 


STATM0RMAL  SCH001 

UOS  flNOELiES,  CAIi. 


RUDDER    GRANGE 


RUDDER  GRANGE 


BY 


FRANK  R.  STOCKTON 

/  i  x  7 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1897 


COI-YRIGHT   BY 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S  SONS, 
1870. 


TROW  ointeTo*T 
•••Tim  too  •OOKMKOIIIO 

M*  riMK 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

PACE 

Treating  of  a  Novel  Style  of  Dwelling-house I 


CHAPTER  II. 
Treating  of  a  Novel  Style  of  Boarder 20 

CHAPTER  III. 
Treating  of  a  Novel  Style  of  GirL 30 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Treating  of  a  Novel  Style  of  Burglar. 44 

CHAPTER  V. 
Pomona  Produces  a  Partial  Revolution  in  Rudder  Grange ....     57 

CHAPTER   VI. 
The  New  Rudder  Grange 67 


vl  Contents 

CHAPTER  VII. 

PACT 

Treating  of  in  Unsuccessful  Broker  and  a  Dog 83 

CHAPTER  VIIL 
Pomona  Once  More. 9*" 

CHAPTER  IX. 
We  Camp  Out 108 

CHAPTER  X. 
Wet  Blankets. 1 26 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Boarder's  Visit 139 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Lord  Edward  and  the  Tree-man. 154 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
Pomona's  Novel 173 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Pomona  takes  a  Bridal  Trip 195 

CHAPTER  XV. 
In  which  two  New  Friends  disport  themselves. 208 


Contents  vii 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PAGB 

In  which  an  Old  Friend  appears,  and  the  Bridal  Trip  takes  a 

Fresh  Start 225 


CHAPTER   XVII. 
In  which  we  take  a  Vacation  and  look  for  David  Button 237 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Our  Tavern 250 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
The  Baby  at  Rudder  Grange, 270 

CHAPTER  XX. 
The  Other  Baby  at  Rudder  Grange 281 


RUDDER  GRANGE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

TREATING    OF    A    NOVEL    STYLE    OF    DWELLING- 
HOUSE. 

FOR  some  months  after  our  marriage,  Euphe- 
mia  and  I  boarded.  But  we  did  not  like  it.  In 
deed,  there  was  no  reason  why  we  should  like  it. 
Euphemia  said  that  she  never  felt  at  home  except 
when  she  was  out,  which  feeling,  indicating  such 
an  excessively  unphilosophic  state  of  mind,  was 
enough  to  make  me  desire  to  have  a  home  of  my 
own,  where,  except  upon  rare  and  exceptional  oc 
casions,  my  wife  would  never  care  to  go  out. 

If  you  should  want  to  rent  a  house,  there  are 
three  ways  to  find  one.  One  way  is  to  advertise  ; 
another  is  to  read  the  advertisements  of  other  peo- 
This  is  a  comparatively  cheap  way.  A  third 
method  is  to  apply  to  an  agent.  But  none  of  these 
plans  are  worth  anything.  The  proper  way  is  to 


2  Rudder  Grange. 

know  some  one  who  will  tell  you  of  a  house  that 
vill  exactly  suit  you.  Euphemia  and  I  thorough 
ly  investigated  this  matter,  and  I  know  that  what 
I  say  is  a  fact. 

We  tried  all  the  plans.  When  we  advertised, 
we  had  about  a  dozen  admirable  answers,  but 
in  these,  although  everything  seemed  to  suit,  the 
amount  of  rent  was  not  named.  (None  of  those  in 
which  the  rent  was  named  would  do  at  all.)  And 
when  I  went  to  see  the  owners,  or  agents  of  these 
suitable  houses,  they  asked  much  higher  rents  than 
those  mentioned  in  the  unavailable  answers — and 
this,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  they  always  as 
serted  that  their  terms  were  cither  very  reasonable 
or  else  greatly  reduced  on  account  of  the  season  be 
ing  advanced.  (It  was  now  the  fifteenth  of  May.) 

Euphemia  and  I  once  wrote  a  book, — this  was 
just  before  we  were  married, — in  which  we  told 
young  married  people  how  to  go  to  housekeeping 
and  how  much  it  would  cost  them.  We  knew  all 
about  it,  for  we  had  asked  several  people.  Now 
the  prices  demanded  as  yearly  rental  for  small  fur 
nished  houses,  by  the  owners  and  agents  of  whom 
I  have  been  speaking,  were,  in  many  cases,  moro 
than  we  had  stated  a  house  could  be  bought  anu 
furnished  for  ! 

The  advertisements  of  other  people  did  not  serve 
any  better.  There  was  always  something  wrong 
about  the  houses  when  we  made  close  inquirio 


Rudder  Grange.  3 

and  the  trouble  was  generally  in  regard  to  the 
rent.  With  agents  we  had  a  little  better  fortune. 
Euphemia  sometimes  went  with  me  on  my  expe 
ditions  to  real  estate  offices,  and  she  remarked  that 
these  offices  were  always  in  the  basement,  or  else 
you  had  to  go  up  to  them  in  an  elevator.  There 
was  nothing  between  these  extremes.  And  it  was 
a  good  deal  the  same  way,  she  said,  with  their 
houses.  They  were  all  very  low  indeed  in  price 
and  quality,  or  else  too  high. 

One  trouble  was  that  we  wanted  a  house  in  a 
country  place,  not  very  far  from  the  city,  and  not 
very  far  from  the  railroad  station  or  steamboat 
landing.  We  also  wanted  the  house  to  be  nicely 
shaded  and  fully  furnished,  and  not  to  be  in  a  ma 
larial  neighborhood,  or  one  infested  by  mosqui 
toes. 

"  If  we  do  go  to  housekeeping,"  said  Euphemia, 
"  we  might  as  well  get  a  house  to  suit  us  while  we 
are  about  it.  Moving  is  more  expensive  than  a 
fire." 

There  was  one  man  who  offered  us  a  house  that 
almost  suited  us.  It  was  near  the  water,  had 
rooms  enough,  and  some — but  not  very  much — 
ground,  and  was  very  accessible  to  the  city.  The 
rent,  too,  was  quite  reasonable.  But  the  house  was 
unfurnished.  The  agent,  however,  did  not  think 
that  this  would  present  any  obstacle  to  our  taking 
it.  He  was  sure  that  the  owner  would  furnish  it  if 


4  Rudder  Grange. 

we  paid  him  ten  percent,  on  the  value  of  the  furni 
ture  he  put  into  it.  We  agreed  that  if  the  landlord 
would  do  this  and  let  us  furnish  the  house  accord 
ing  to  the  plans  laid  down  in  our  book,  that  we 
would  take  the  house.  But  unfortunately  this  ar 
rangement  did  not  suit  the  landlord,  although  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  furnishing  houses  for  tenants 
and  charging  them  ten  per  cent,  on  the  cost 

I  saw  him  myself  and  talked  to  him  about  it. 

"  But  you  see,"  said  he,  when  I  had  shown  him 
our  list  of  articles  necessary  for  the  furnishing  of  a 
house,  "  it  would  not  pay  me  to  buy  all  these 
things,  and  rent  them  out  to  you.  If  you  only 
wanted  heavy  furniture,  which  would  last  for 
years,  the  plan  would  answer,  but  you  want  every- 
thing.  I  believe  the  small  conveniences  you  have 
on  this  list  come  to  more  money  than  the  furniture 
and  carpets." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  I.  "  We  are  not  so  very  par 
ticular  about  furniture  and  carpets,  but  these  little 
conveniences  are  the  things  that  make  housekeep 
ing  pleasant,  and, — speaking  from  a  common-sense 
point  of  view, — profitable." 

"  That  may  be,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  can't  af 
ford  to  make  matters  pleasant  and  profitable  for 
you  in  that  way.  Now,  then,  let  us  look  at  one 
or  two  particulars.  Here,  on  your  list,  is  an  ice 
pick  :  twenty-five  cents.  Now,  if  I  buy  that  ice 
pick  and  rent  it  to  you  at  two  and  a-half  cents  a 


Rudder  Grange.  5 

year,  I  shall  not  get  my  money  back  unless  it  lasts 
you  ten  years.  And  even  then,  as  it  is  not  prob 
able  that  I  can  sell  that  ice-pick  after  you  have 
used  it  for  ten  years,  I  shall  have  made  nothing  at 
all  by  my  bargain.  And  there  are  other  things  in 
that  list,  such  as  feather-dusters  and  lamp-chim 
neys,  that  couldn't  possibly  last  ten  years.  Don't 
you  see  my  position  ?  " 

I  saw  it.  We  did  not  get  that  furnished  house. 
Euphemia  was  greatly  disappointed. 

"  It  would  have  been  just  splendid,"  she  said, 
"to  have  taken  our  book  and  have  ordered  *all 
Miese  things  at  the  stores,  one  after  another,  with 
out  even  being  obliged  to  ask  the  price." 

I  had  my  private  doubts  in  regard  to  this  matter 
of  price.  I  am  afraid  that  Euphemia  generally  set 
down  the  lowest  price  and  the  best  things.  She 
did  not  mean  to  mislead,  and  her  plan  certainly 
made  our  book  attractive.  But  it  did  not  work 
very  well  in  practice.  We  have  a  friend  who 
undertook  to  furnish  her  house  by  our  book,  and 
she  never  could  get  the  things  as  cheaply  as  we 
had  them  quoted. 

"  But  you  see,"  said  Euphemia,  to  her,  "  we 
had  to  put  them  down  at  very  low  prices,  because 
the  model  house  we  speak  of  in  the  book  is  to  be 
entirely  furnished  for  just  so  much." 

But,  in  spite  of  this  explanation,  the  lady  was 
not  satisfied. 


6  Rudder  Grange. 

We  found  ourselves  obliged  to  give  up  the  idea 
of  a  furnished  house.  We  Would  have  taken  an 
unfurnished  one  and  furnished  it  ourselves,  but  we 
had  not  money  enough.  We  were  dreadfully  afraid 
that  we  should  have  to  continue  to  board. 

It  was  now  getting  on  toward  summer,  at  least 
there  was  only  a  part  of  a  month  of  spring  left,  and 
whenever  I  could  get  off  from  my  business  Euphe- 
mia  and  I  made  little  excursions  into  the  country 
round  about  the  city.  One  afternoon  we  went 
up  the  river,  and  there  we  saw  a  sight  that  trans 
fixed  us,  as  it  were.  On  the  bank,  a  mile  or  so 
above  the  city,  stood  a  canal-boat.  I  say  stood, 
because  it  was  so  firmly  imbedded  in  the  ground 
by  the  river-side,  that  it  would  have  been  almost 
as  impossible  to  move  it  as  to  have  turned  the 
Sphinx  around.  This  boat  we  soon  found  was  in 
habited  by  an  oyster-man  and  his  family.  They 
had  lived  there  for  many  years  and  were  really 
doing  quite  well.  The  boat  was  divided,  inside, 
into  rooms,  and  these  were  papered  and  painted 
and  nicely  furnished.  There  was  a  kitchen,  a 
living-room,  a  parlor  and  bedrooms.  There  were 
all  sorts  of  conveniences — carpets  on  the  floors, 
pictures,  and  everything,  at  least  so  it  seemed  to 
us,  to  make  a  home  comfortable.  This  was  not  all 
done  at  once,  the  oyster-man  told  me.  They  had 
lived  there  for  years  and  had  gradually  added  this 
and  that  until  the  olacc  was  as  we  saw  it  lie  had 


Rudder  Grange.  J 

an  oyster-bed  out  in  the  river  and  he  made  cider 
in  the  winter,  but  where  he  got  the  apples  I  don't 
know.  There  was  really  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  get  rich  in  time. 

Well,  we  went  all  over  that  house  and  we  praised 
everything  so  much  that  the  oyster-man's  wife  was 
delighted,  and  when  we  had  some  stewed  oysters 
afterward, — eating  them  at  a  little  table  under  a 
tree  near  by, — I  believe  that  she  picked  out  the 
very  largest  oysters  she  had,  to  stew  for  us. 
When  we  had  finished  our  supper  and  had  paid  for 
it,  and  were  going  down  to  take  our  little  boat 
again, —  for  we  had  rowed  up  the  river, — Euphe- 
mia  stopped  and  looked  around  her.  Then  she 
clasped  her  hands  and  exclaimed  in  an  ecstatic  un 
dertone  : 

"  We  must  have  a  canal-boat  !  " 

And  she  never  swerved  from  that  determina 
tion. 

After  I  had  seriously  thought  over  the  matter,  I 
could  see  no  good  reason  against  adopting  this 
plan.  It  would  certainly  be  a  cheap  method  of 
living,  and  it  would  really  be  housekeeping.  I 
grew  more  and  more  in  favor  of  it.  After  what 
the  oyster-man  had  done,  what  might  not  we  do  ? 
He  had  never  written  a  book  on  housekeeping, 
nor,  in  all  probability,  had  he  considered  the  mat 
ter,  philosophically,  for  one  moment  in  all  his 
life. 


8  Rudder  Grange. 

But  it  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  find  a  canal' 
boat.  There  were  none  advertised  for  rent — at 
least,  not  for  housekeeping  purposes. 

We  made  many  inquiries  and  took  many  a  long 
walk  along  the  water-courses  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
city,  but  all  in  vain.  Of  course,  we  talked  a  great 
deal  about  our  project  and  our  friends  became 
greatly  interested  in  it,  and,  of  course,  too,  they 
gave  us  a  great  deal  of  advice,  but  we  didn't  mind 
that.  We  were  philosophical  enough  to  know  that 
you  can't  have  shad  without  bones.  They  were 
good  friends  and,  by  being  careful  in  regard  to  the 
advice,  it  didn't  interfere  with  our  comfort. 

We  were  beginning  to  be  discouraged,  at  least 
Euphemia  was.  Her  discouragement  is  like  water- 
cresses,  it  generally  comes  up  in  a  very  short  time 
after  she  sows  her  wishes.  But  then  it  withers 
away  rapidly,  which  is  a  comfort.  One  evening 
we  were  sitting,  rather  disconsolately,  in  our  room, 
and  I  was  reading  out  the  advertisements  of  coun 
try  board  in  a  newspaper,  when  in  rushed  Dr. 
Heare — one  of  our  old  friends.  He  was  so  full  of 
something  that  he  had  to  say  that  he  didn't  even 
ask  us  how  we  were.  In  fact,  he  didn't  appear  to 
want  to  know. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  he,  "  I  have  found 
just  the  very  thing  you  want." 

"  A  canal-boat?  "  I  cried. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  a  canal-boat." 


Rudder  Grange.  9 

"  Furnished  ?  "  asked  Euphemia,  her  eyes  glis 
tening. 

"  Well,  no,"  answered  the  doctor,  "  I  don't 
think  you  could  expect  that." 

"  But  we  can't  live  on  the  bare  floor,"  said  Eu 
phemia  ;  "  our  house  must  be  furnished." 

"Well,  then,  I  suppose  this  won't  do,"  said  the 
doctor,  ruefully,  "for  there  isn't  so  much  as  a 
boot-jack  in  it.  It  has  most  things  that  are  neces 
sary  for  a  boat,  but  it  hasn't  anything  that  you 
could  call  house-furniture  ;  but,  dear  me,  I  should 
think  you  could  furnish  it  very  cheaply  and  com 
fortably  out  of  your  book." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Euphemia,  "  if  we  could  pick 
out  the  cheapest  things  and  then  get  some  folks  to 
buy  a  lot  of  the  books." 

"  We  could  begin  with  very  little,"  said  I,  trying 
hard  to  keep  calm. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you  need  make 
no  more  rooms,  at  first,  than  you  could  furnish." 

"Then  there  are  no  rooms,"  said  Euphemia. 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  but  one  vast  apartment 
extending  from  stem  to  stern." 

"  Won't  it  be  glorious  !  "  said  Euphemia  to  me. 
"  We  can  first  make  a  kitchen,  and  then  a  dining- 
room,  and  a  bedroom,  and  then  a  parlor — just  in 
the  order  in  which  our  book  says  they  ought  to 
be  furnished." 

"  Glorious  !"   I  cried,  no  longer  able  to  contain 


IO  Rudder  Grange. 

my   enthusiasm  ;  "  I    should   think   so.      Doctor, 
where  is  this  canal-boat  ?  " 

The  doctor  then  went  into  a  detailed  statement 

The  boat  was  stranded  gn  the  shore  of  the 
Scoldsbury  river  not  far  below  Ginx's.  We  knew 
where  Ginx's  was,  because  we  had  spent  a  very 
happy  day  there,  during  our  honeymoon. 

The  boat  was  a  good  one,  but  superannuated 
That,  however,  did  not  interfere  with  its  usefulness 
as  a  dwelling.     We  could  get  it — the  doctor  had 
seen  the  owner — for  a  small  sum  per  annum,  and 
there  was  positively  no  end  to  its  capabilities. 

We  sat  up  until  twenty  minutes  past  two,  talking 
about  that  house.  We  ceased  to  call  it  a  boat  at 
about  a  quarter  of  eleven. 

The  next  day  I  "took"  the  boat  and  paid  a 
month's  rent  in  advance.  Three  days  afterward 
we  moved  into  it. 

We.  had  not  much  to  move,  which  was  a  comfort, 
looking  at  it  from  one  point  of  view.  A  carpenter 
had  put  up  two  partitions  in  it  which  made  three 
rooms — a  kitchen,  a  dining-room  and  a  very  long 
bedroom,  which  was  to  be  cut  up  into  a  parlor, 
study,  spare-room,  etc.,  as  soon  as  circumstances 
should  allow,  or  my  salary  should  be  raised.  Ori 
ginally,  all  the  doors  and  windows  were  in  the 
roof,  so  to  speak,  but  our  landlord  allowed  us  to 
make  as  many  windows  to  the  side  of  the  boat  as 
we  pleased,  provided  we  gave  him  the-  wood  we 


Rudder  Grange.  n 

cut  out.  It  saved  him  trouble,  he  said,  but  I  did 
not  understand  him  at  the  time.  Accordingly, 
the  carpenter  made  several  windows  for  us,  and 
put  in  sashes,  which  opened  on  hinges  like  the  hasp 
of  a  trunk.  Our  furniture  did  not  amount  to  much, 
at  first.  The  very  thought  of  living  in  this  inde 
pendent,  romantic  way  was  so  delightful,  Euphe- 
mia  said,  that  furniture  seemed  a  mere  secondary 
matter. 

We  were  obliged  indeed  to  give  up  the  idea  of 
following  the  plan  detailed  in  our  book,  because 
we  hadn't  the  sum  upon  which  the  furnishing  of  a 
small  house  was  therein  based. 

"And  if  we  haven't  the  money,"  remarked 
Euphemia,  "  it  would  be  of  no  earthly  use  to  look 
at  the  book.  It  would  only  make  us  doubt  our 
own  calculations.  You  might  as  well  try  to  make 
brick  without  mortar,  as  the  children  of  Israel  did." 

"  I  could  do  that  myself,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "  but 
we  won't  discuss  that  subject  now.  We  will  buy 
just  what  we  absolutely  need,  and  then  work  up 
from  that." 

Acting  on  this  plan,  we  bought  first  a  small 
stove,  because  Euphemia  said  that  we  could  sleep 
on  the  floor,  if  it  were  necessary,  but  we  couldn't 
make  a  fire  on  the  floor — at  least  not  often.  Then 
we  got  a  table  and  two  chairs.  The  next  thing 
we  purchased  was  some  hanging  shelves  for  our 
books,  and  Euphemia  suddenly  remembered  the 


12  Rmlticr   Grange, 

kitchen  things.  These,  which  were  fe\v,  with  some 
crockery,  nearly  brought  us  to  the  end  of  our  re 
sources,  but  we  had  enough  for  a  big  easy-chair 
which  Euphemia  was  determined  I  should  have, 
because  I  really  needed  it  when  I  came  home  at 
night,  tired  with  my  long  day's  work  at  the  office. 
I  had  always  been  used  to  an  easy-chair,  and  it  was 
one  of  her  most  delightful  dreams  to  see  me  in  a 
real  nice  one,  comfortably  smoking  my  pipe  in  my 
own  house,  after  eating  my  own  delicious  little 
supper  in  company  with  my  own  dear  wife.  We 
selected  the  chair,  and  then  we  were  about  to  order 
the  things  sent  out  to  our  future  home,  when  I 
happened  to  think  that  we  had  no  bed.  I  callexi 
Euphemia's  attention  to  the  fact. 

She  was  thunderstruck. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  said.  "We 
shall  have  to  give  up  the  stove." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  I,  "  we  can't  do  that.  We 
must  give  up  the  easy-chair." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  too  bad,"  said  she.  "  The 
house  would  seem  like  nothing  to  me  without  the 
chair  I " 

"  But  we  must  do  without  it,  my  dear,"  said  I, 
'  at  least  for  a  while.  I  can  sit  out  on  deck  and 
smoke  of  an  evening,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Euphemia.  "You  can  sit  on  the 
bulwarks  and  I  can  sit  by  you.  That  will  do  very 
well.  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  the  boat  has  bulwarks  " 


Rudder  Grange.  13 

So  we  resigned  the  easy-chair  and  bought  a  bed 
stead  and  some  very  plain  bedding.  The  bedstead 
was  what  is  sometimes  called  a  "  scissors- bed." 
We  could  shut  it  up  when  we  did  not  want  to 
sleep  in  it,  and  stand  it  against  the  wall. 

When  we  packed  up  our  trunks  and  left  the 
boarding-house  Euphemia  fairly  skipped  with 
joy. 

We  went  down  to  Ginx's  in  the  first  boat,  hav 
ing  arranged  that  our  furniture  should  be  sent  to 
us  in  the  afternoon.  We  wanted  to  be  there  to 
receive  it.  The  trip  was  just  wildly  delirious.  The 
air  was  charming.  The  sun  was  bright,  and  I  had 
a  whole  holiday.  When  we  reached  Ginx's  we 
found  that  the  best  way  to  get  our  trunks  and 
ourselves  to  our  house  was  to  take  a  carriage,  and 
so  we  took  one.  I  told  the  driver  to  drive  along 
the  river  road  and  I  would  tell  him  where  to 
stop. 

When  we  reached  our  boat,  and  had  alighted,  I 
said  to  the  driver  : 

"  You  can  just  put  our  trunks  inside,  any 
where." 

The  man  looked  at  the  trunks  and  then  looked 
at  the  boat.  Afterward  he  looked  at  me. 

"  That  boat  ain't  goin'  anywhere,"  said  he. 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  Euphemia.  "We 
shouldn't  want  to  live  in  it,  if  it  were." 

"  You  are  going  to  live  in  it  ?  "  said  the  man. 


1}  l\  it  ddcr    G*r<! 

"  Yes,"  said  Euphcmia. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  the  man,  and  he  took  our  trunks 
on  board,  without  another  word. 

It  was  not  very  easy  for  him  to  get  the  trunks 
into  our  new  home.  In  fact  it  was  not  easy  for  us 
to  get  there  ourselves.  There  was  a  gang-plank, 
with  a  rail  on  one  side  of  it,  which  inclined  from 
the  shore  to  the  deck  of  the  boat  at  an  angle  of 
forty-five  degrees,  and  when  the  man  had  stag 
gered  up  this  plank  with  the  trunks  (Euphemia 
said  I  ought  to  have  helped  him,  but  I  really 
thought  that  it  would  be  better  for  one  person  to 
fall  off  the  plank  than  for  two  to  go  over  together), 
and  we  had  paid  him,  and  he  had  driven  away  in 
a  speechless  condition,  we  scrambled  up  and  stood 
upon  the  threshold,  or,  rather,  the  after-deck  of 
our  home. 

It  was  a  proud  moment.  Euphemia  glanced 
around,  her  eyes  full  of  happy  tears,  and  then  she 
took  my  arm  and  we  went  down  stairs — at  least  we 
tried  to  go  down  in  that  fashion,  but  soon  found  it 
necessary  to  go  one  at  a  time.  We  wandered 
over  the  whole  extent  of  our  mansion  and  found 
that  our  carpenter  had  done  his  work  better  than 
the  woman  whom  we  had  engaged  to  scrub  and 
clean  the  house.  Something  akin  to  despair  must 
have  seized  upon  her,  for  Euphemia  declared  that 
the  floors  looked  dirtier  than  on  the  occasion  of 
her  first  visit,  when  we  rented  the  boat. 


Rudder  Grange.  i$ 

But  that  didn't  discourage  us.  We  felt  sure  that 
we  should  get  it  clean  in  time. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  our  furniture  arrived, 
together  with  the  other  things  we  had  bought,  and 
the  men  who  brought  them  over  from  the  steam 
boat  landing  had  the  brightest,  merriest  faces  I  ever 
noticed  among  that  class  of  people.  Euphemia 
said  it  was  an  excellent  omen  to  have  such  cheer 
ful  fellows  come  to  us  on  the  very  first  day  of  our 
housekeeping. 

Then  we  went  to  work.  I  put  up  the  stove, 
which  was  not  much  trouble,  as  there  was  a  place 
all  ready  in  the  deck  for  the  stove-pipe  to  be  run 
through.  Euphemia  was  somewhat  surprised  at 
the  absence  of  a  chimney,  but  I  assured  her  that 
boats  were  very  seldom  built  with  chimneys.  My 
dear  little  wife  bustled  about  and  arranged  the 
pots  and  kettles  on  nails  that  I  drove  into  the 
kitchen  walls.  Then  she  made  the  bed  in  the 
bed-room  and  I  hung  up  a  looking-glass  and  a  few 
little  pictures  that  we  had  brought  in  our  trunks. 

Before  four  o'clock  our  house  was  in  order 
Then  we  began  to  be  very  hungry. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Euphemia,  "  we  ought  to  have 
thought  to  bring  something  to  cook." 

"That  is  very  true,"  said  I,  "  but  I  think  per 
haps  we  had  better  walk  up  to  Ginx's  and  get  our 
supper  to-night.  You  see  we  are  so  tired  and 
hungry." 


16  Riuiiicr   Gr,r 

"What!"  cried  Euphemia,  "go  to  a  hotel  the 
very  first  day?  I  think  it  would  be  dreadful! 
Why,  I  have  been  looking  forward  to  this  first 
meal  with  the  greatest  delight.  You  can  go  up 
io  the  little  store  by  the  hotel  and  buy  some  things 
and  I  will  cook  them,  and  we  will  have  our  first 
dear  little  meal  here  all  alone  by  ourselves,  at  our 
own  table  and  in  our  own  house." 

So  this  was  determined  upon  and,  after  a  hasty 
counting  of  the  fund  I  had  reserved  for  moving 
and  kindred  expenses,  and  which  had  been  sorely 
depleted  during  the  day,  I  set  out,  and  in  about 
an  hour  returned  with  my  first  marketing. 

I  made  a  fire,  using  a  lot  of  chips  and  blocks  the 
carpenter  had  left,  and  Euphemia  cooked  the  sup 
per,  and  we  ate  it  from  our  little  table,  with  two 
large  towels  for  a  table-cloth. 

It  was  the  most  delightful  meal  I  ever  ate ! 

And,  when  we  had  finished,  Euphemia  washed 
the  dishes  (the  thoughtful  creature  had  put  some 
water  on  the  stove  to  heat  for  the  purpose,  while 
we  were  at  supper)  and  then  we  went  on  deck,  or 
on  the  piazza,  as  Euphemia  thought  we  had  better 
call  it,  and  there  we  had  our  smoke.  I  say  we,  for 
Euphemia  always  helps  me  to  smoke  by  sitting 
by  me,  and  she  seems  to  enjoy  it  as  much  as 
I  do. 

And  when  the  shades  of  evening  began  to 
gather  around  us,  I  hauled  in  the  gang-plank  (just 


Rudder  Grange.  IJ 

like  a  delightful  old  draw-bridge,  Euphemia  said, 
although  I  hope  for  the  sake  of  our  ancestors  that 
draw-bridges  were  easier  to  haul  in)  and  went  to 
bed. 

It  is  lucky  we  were  tired  and  wanted  to  go  to 
bed  early,  for  we  had  forgotten  all  about  lamps  or 
candles. 

For  the  next  week  we  were  two  busy  and  happy 
people.  I  rose  about  half-past  five  and  made  the 
fire, — we  found  so  much  wood  on  the  shore,  that  I 
thought  I  should  not  have  to  add  fuel  to  my  ex 
penses, — and  Euphemia  cooked  the  breakfast.  I 
then  went  to  a  well  belonging  to  a  cottage  near  by 
where  we  had  arranged  for  water-privileges,  and 
filled  two  buckets  with  delicious  water  and  carried 
them  home  for  Euphemia's  use  through  the  day. 
Then  I  hurried  off  to  catch  the  train,  for,  as  there 
was  a  station  near  Ginx's,  I  ceased  to  patronize 
the  steamboat,  the  hours  of  which  were  not  con 
venient.  After  a  day  of  work  and  pleasurable 
anticipation  at  the  office,  I  hastened  back  to  my 
home,  generally  laden  with  a  basket  of  provisions 
and  various  household  necessities.  Milk  was 
brought  to  us  daily  from  the  above-mentioned 
cottage  by  a  little  toddler  who  seemed  just  able 
to  carry  the  small  tin  bucket  which  held  a  lacteal 
pint.  If  the  urchin  had  been  the  child  of  rich  par 
ents,  as  Euphemia  sometimes  observed,  he  would 
have  been  in  his  nurse's  arms — but  being  poor,  he 


1 8  Rudder  Grange. 

was  scarcely  weaned  before  he  began  to  carry  milk 
around  to  other  people. 

After  I  reached  home  came  supper  and  the 
delightful  evening  hours,  when  over  my  pipe  (I 
had  given  up  cigars,  as  being  too  expensive  and 
inappropriate,  and  had  taken  to  a  tall  pipe  and 
canaster  tobacco)  we  talked  and  planned,  and  told 
each  other  our  day's  experience. 

One  of  our  earliest  subjects  of  discussion  was 
the  name  of  our  homestead.  Euphemia  insisted 
that  it  should  have  a  name.  I  was  quite  willing, 
but  we  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  select  an  appro 
priate  title.  I  proposed  a  number  of  appellations 
intended  to  suggest  the  character  of  our  home. 
Among  these  were:  "Safe  Ashore,"  "Firmly 
Grounded,"  and  some  other  names  of  that  style, 
but  Euphemia  did  not  fancy  any  of  them.  She 
wanted  a  suitable  name,  of  course,  she  said,  but  it 
must  be  something  that  would  sound  like  a  house 
and  be  like  a  boat. 

"  Partitionville,"  she  objected  to,  and  "Gang 
plank  Terrace,"  did  not  suit  her  because  it  sug 
gested  convicts  going  out  to  work,  which  naturally 
was  unpleasant. 

At  last,  after  days  of  talk  and  cogitation,  we 
named  our  house  "  Rudder  Grange." 

To  be  sure,  it  wasn't  exactly  a  grange,  but 
then  it  had  such  an  enormous  rudder  that  the 
justice  of  that  part  of  the  title  seemed  to  over- 


Rudder  Grange.  19 

balance  any  little  inaccuracy  in  the  other  por 
tion. 

But  we  did  not  spend  all  our  spare  time  in  talk 
ing.  An  hour  or  two,  every  evening  was  occu 
pied  in  what  we  called  "fixing  the  house,"  and 
gradually  the  inside  of  our  abode  began  to  look 
like  a  conventional  dwelling.  We  put  matting  on 
the  floors  and  cheap  but  very  pretty  paper  on  the 
walls.  We  added  now  a  couple  of  chairs,  and  now 
a  table  or  something  for  the  kitchen.  Frequently, 
especially  of  a  Sunday,  we  had  company,  and  our 
guests  were  always  charmed  with  Euphemia's  cun 
ning  little  meals.  The  dear  girl  loved  good  eating 
so  much  that  she  could  scarcely  fail  to  be  a  good 
cook. 

We  worked  hard,  and  were  very  happy.  And 
thus  the  weeks  passed  on. 


CHAPTER  It. 

TREATING  OF  A   NOVEL  STYLE  OF  BOARDER, 

IN  this  delightful  way  of  living,  only  one  thing 
troubled  us.  We  didn't  save  any  money.  There 
were  so  many  little  things  that  we  wanted,  and 
so  many  little  things  that  were  so  cheap,  that  I 
spent  pretty  much  all  I  made,  and  that  was  far 
from  the  philosophical  plan  of  living  that  I  wished 
to  follow. 

We  talked  this  matter  over  a  great  deal  after  we 
had  lived  in  our  new  home  for  about  a  month,  and 
tve  came  at  last  to  the  conclusion  that  we  would 
take  a  boarder. 

We  had  no  trouble  in  getting  a  boarder,  for  we 
had  a  friend,  a  young  man  who  was  engaged  in 
the  flour  business,  who  was  very  anxious  to  come 
and  live  with  us.  He  had  been  to  see  us  two  or 
three  times,  and  had  expressed  himself  charmed 
with  our  household  arrangements. 

So  we  made  terms  with  him.  The  carpenter 
partitioned  off  another  room,  and  our  boarder 
brought  his  trunk  and  a  large  red  velvet  arm-chair, 
and  took  up  his  abode  at  "  Rudder  Grange." 


Rudder  Grange.  21 

We  liked  our  boarder  very  much,  but  he  had 
some  peculiarities.  I  suppose  everybody  has 
them.  Among  other  things,  he  was  very  fond  of 
telling  us  what  we  ought  to  do.  He  suggested 
more  improvements  in  the  first  three  days  of  his 
sojourn  with  us  than  I  had  thought  of  since  we 
commenced  housekeeping.  And  what  made  the 
matter  worse,  his  suggestions  were  generally  very 
good  ones.  Had  it  been  otherwise  I  might  have 
borne  his  remarks  more  complacently,  but  to  be 
continually  told  what  you  ought  to  do,  and  to 
know  that  you  ought  to  do  it,  is  extremely  annoy 
ing. 

He  was  very  anxious  that  I  should  take  off  the 
rudder,  which  was  certainly  useless  to  a  boat  situ 
ated  as  ours  was,  and  make  an  ironing-table  of  it. 
I  persisted  that  the  laws  of  symmetrical  propriety 
required  that  the  rudder  should  remain  where  it 
was — that  the  very  name  of  our  home  would  be 
interfered  with  by  its  removal,  but  he  insisted  that 
"  Ironing-table  Grange  "  would  be  just  as  good  a 
name,  and  that  symmetrical  propriety  in  such  a 
case  did  not  amount  to  a  row  of  pins. 

The  result  was,  that  we  did  have  the  ironing- 
table,  and  that  Euphemia  was  very  much  pleased 
with  it.  A  great  many  other  improvements  were 
projected  and  carried  out  by  him,  and  I  was  very 
much  worried.  He  made  a  flower-garden  for  Eu 
phemia  on  the  extreme  forward-deck,  and  having 


22  Rudder 

borrowed  a  wheelbarrow,  he  wheeled  dozens  of 
loads  of  arable  dirt  up  our  gang-plank  and  dumped 
them  out  on  the  deck.  When  he  had  covered  tin- 
garden  with  a  suitable  depth  of  earth,  he  smoothed 
it  off  and  then  planted  flower-seeds.  It  was  rather 
late  in  the  season,  but  most  of  them  came  up.  I 
was  pleased  with  the  garden,  but  sorry  I  had  not 
made  it  myself. 

One  afternoon  I  got  away  from  the  office  con 
siderably  earlier  than  usual,  and  I  hurried  home  to 
enjoy  the  short  period  of  daylight  that  I  should 
have  before  supper.  It  had  been  raining  the  day 
before,  and  as  the  bottom  of  our  garden  leaked  so 
that  earthy  water  trickled  down  at  one  end  of  our 
bed-room,  I  intended  to  devote  a  short  time  to 
stuffing  up  the  cracks  in  the  ceiling  or  bottom  of 
the  deck — whichever  seems  the  most  appropriate. 
v  But  when  I  reached  a  bend  in  the  river  road, 
whence  I  always  had  the  earliest  view  of  my  es 
tablishment,  I  did  not  have  that  view.  I  hurried 
on.  The  nearer  I  approached  the  place  where  I 
lived,  the  more  horror-stricken  I  became.  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  fact. 

The  boat  was  not  there  ! 

In  an  instant  the  truth  flashed  upon  me. 

The  water  was  very  high — the  rain  had  swollen 
the  river — my  house  had  floated  away  ! 

It  was  Wednesday.     On  Wednesday  afternoons 
our  boarder  came  home  early. 


Rudder  Grange.  23 

I  clapped  my  hat  tightly  on  my  head  and 
ground  my  teeth. 

"  Confound  that  boarder  !  "  I  thought.  "  He 
has  been  fooling  with  the  anchor.  He  always  said 
it  was  of  no  use,  and  taking  advantage  of  my  ab 
sence,  he  has  hauled  it  up,  and  has  floated  away, 
and  has  gone — gone  with  my  wife  and  my  home  !  " 

Euphemia  and  "  Rudder  Grange"  had  gone  off 
together — where  I  knew  not, — and  with  them  that 
horrible  suggester ! 

I  ran  wildly  along  the  bank.  I  called  aloud,  I 
shouted  and  hailed  each  passing  craft — of  which 
there  were  only  two — but  their  crews  must  have 
been  very  inattentive  to  the  woes  of  landsmen,  or 
else  they  did  not  hear  me,  for  they  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  my  cries. 

I  met  a  fellow  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder.  I 
shouted  to  him  before  I  reached  him  : 

"  Hello  !  did  you  see  a  boat — a  house,  I  mean, 
— floating  up  the  river  ?  " 

"  A  boat-house  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  No,  a  house-boat,"  I  gasped. 

"  Didn't  see  nuthin'  like  it,"  said  the  man,  and 
he  passed  on,  to  his  wife  and  home,  no  doubt  But 
rne  !  Oh,  where  was  my  wife  and  my  home  ? 

I  met  several  people,  but  none  of  them  had  seen 
a  rugitive  canal-boat. 

How  many  thoughts  came  into  my  brain  as  I 
ran  along  that  river  road !  If  that  wretched 


24  Rudder  Grange, 

boarder  had  not  taken  the  rudder  for  an  ironing- 
table  he  might  have  steered  in  shore  !  Again  and 
again  I  confounded — as  far  as  mental  ejaculations 
could  do  it — his  suggestions. 

I  was  rapidly  becoming  frantic  when  I  met  a 
person  who  hailed  me. 

"  Hello  !  "  he  said,  "  are  you  after  a  canal-boat 
adrift  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  panted. 

"  I  thought  you  was,"  he  said.  "You  looked 
that  way.  Well,  I  can  tell  you  where  she  is. 
She's  stuck  fast  in  the  reeds  at  the  lower  end  o' 
Peter's  Pint." 

"  Where's  that  ?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  it's  about  a  mile  furder  up.  I  seed  her 
fl-driftin'  up  with  the  tide — big  flood  tide,  to-day 
--and  I  thought  I'd  see  somebody  after  her,  afore 
kmg.  Anything  aboard  ?  " 

Anything  ! 

I  could  not  answer  the  man.  Anything,  in 
deed  !  I  hurried  on  up  the  river  without  a  word. 
Was  the  boat  a  wreck  ?  I  scarcely  dared  to  think 
of  it.  I  scarcely  dared  to  think  at  all. 

The  man  called  after  me  and  I  stopped.  I  could 
but  stop,  no  matter  what  I  might  hear. 

"  Hello,  mister,"  he  said,  "  got  any  tobacco  ?  " 

I  walked  up  to  him.  I  took  hold  of  him  by  the 
lapel  of  his  coat.  It  was  a  dirty  lapel,  as  I  remem 
bcr  even  now,  but  I  didn't  mind  that. 


Rudder  Grange.  25 

"Look  here,"  said  I.  "Tell  me  the  truth,  I 
can  bear  it.  Was  that  vessel  wrecked  ?  " 

The  man  looked  at  me  a  little  queerly.  I  could 
not  exactly  interpret  his  expression. 

"  You're  sure  you  kin  bear  it?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  my  hand  trembling  as  I  held  his 
coat. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  he,  "  it's  mor'n  I  kin,"  and 
he  jerked  his  coat  out  of  my  hand,  and  sprang 
away.  When  he  reached  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  he  turned  and  shouted  at  me,  as  though  I 
had  been  deaf. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  think  ?  "  he  yelled.  "  I 
think  you're  a  darned  lunatic,"  and  with  that  he 
went  his  way. 

I  hastened  on  to  Peter's  Point.  Long  before  I 
reached  it,  I  saw  the  boat. 

It  was  apparently  deserted.  But  still  I  pressed 
on.  I  must  know  the  worst.  When  I  reached  the 
Point,  I  found  that  the  boat  had  run  aground,  with 
her  head  in  among  the  long  reeds  and  mud,  and  the 
rest  of  her  hull  lying  at  an  angle  from  the  shore. 

There  was  consequently  no  way  for  me  to  get 
on  board,  but  to  wade  through  the  mud  and  reeds 
to  her  bow,  and  then  climb  up  as  well  as  I  could. 

This  I  did,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  do.  Twice  I 
sank  above  my  knees  in  mud  and  water,  and  had 
it  not  been  for  reeds,  masses  of  which  I  frequently 
clutched  when  I  thought  I  was  going  over,  I  be- 


26  Rudder  Grn 

lieve  I  should  have  fallen  down  and  come  to  my 
death  in  that  horrible  marsh.  When  I  reached 
the  boat,  I  stood  up  to  my  hips  in  water  and  saw 
no  way  of  climbing  up.  The  gang-plank  had  un 
doubtedly  floated  away,  and  if  it  had  not,  it  would 
have  been  of  no  use  to  me  in  my  position. 

But  I  was  desperate.  I  clasped  the  post  that 
they  put  in  the  bow  of  canal-boats  ;  I  stuck  my 
toes  and  my  finger-nails  in  the  cracks  between  the 
boards — how  glad  I  was  that  the  boat  was  an  old 
one  and  had  cracks  ! — and  so,  painfully  and  slowly, 
slipping  part  way  down  once  or  twice,  and  beslim- 
ing  myself  from  chin  to  foot,  I  climbed  up  that 
post  and  scrambled  upon  deck.  In  an  instant,  I 
reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  in  another  in 
stant  I  rushed  below. 

There  sat  my  wife  and  our  boarder,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  dining-room  table,  complacently  play 
ing  checkers ! 

My  sudden  entrance  startled  them.  My  appear 
ance  startled  them  still  more. 

Euphemia  sprang  to  her  feet  and  tottered  to 
ward  me. 

"Mercy!"  she  exclaimed;  "has  anything 
happened  ?  " 

"  Happened  !  "  I  gasped. 

"  Look  here,"  cried  the  boarder,  clutching  me 
by  the  arm,  "  what  a  condition  you're  in.  Did 
you  fall  in  ?  " 


Rudder  Grange.  27 

"  Fall  in  !  "  said  I. 

Euphemia  and  the  boarder  looked  at  each  other. 
I  looked  at  them.  Then  I  opened  my  mouth  io 
earnest. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  know,"  I  yelled,  "that 
you  have  drifted  away  !  " 

"  By  George  !  "  cried  the  boarder,  and  in  two 
bounds  he  was  on  deck. 

Dirty  as  I  was,  Euphemia  fell  into  my  arms.  I 
told  her  all.  She  hadn't  known  a  bit  of  it  ! 

The  boat  had  so  gently  drifted  off,  and  had  so 
gently  grounded  among  the  reeds,  that  the  voyage 
had  never  so  much  as  disturbed  their  games  of 
checkers. 

"He  plays  such  a  splendid  game,"  Euphemia 
sobbed,  "  and  just  as  you  came,  I  thought  I  was 
going  to  beat  him.  I  had  two  kings  and  two 
pieces  on  the  next  to  last  row,  and  you  are  nearly 
drowned.  You'll  get  your  death  of  cold — and— 
and  he  had  only  one  king." 

She  led  me  away  and  I  undressed  and  washed 
myself  and  put  on  my  Sunday  clothes. 

When  I  reappeared  I  went  out  on  deck  with 
Euphemia.  The  boarder  was  there,  standing  by 
the  petunia  bed.  His  arms  were  folded  and  he 
was  thinking  profoundly.  As  we  approached,  he 
turned  toward  us. 

"  You  were  right  about  that  anchor,"  he  said, 
"  I  should  not  have  hauled  it  in ;  but  it  was  such 


28  Rudder  Grange. 

a  little  anchor  that  I  thought  it  would  be  of  more 
use  on  board  as  a  garden  hoe." 

"A  very  little  anchor  will  sometimes  do  very 
well,"  said  I,  cuttingly,  "when  it  is  hooked 
around  a  tree." 

"  Yes,  there  is  something  in  that,"  said  he. 

It  was  now  growing  late,  and  as  our  agitation 
subsided  we  began  to  be  hungry.  Fortunately, 
we  had  everything  necessary  on  board,  and,  as  it 
really  didn't  make  any  difference  in  our  household 
economy,  where  we  happened  to  be  located,  we 
had  supper  quite  as  usual.  In  fact,  the  kettle  had 
been  put  on  to  boil  during  the  checker-playing. 

After  supper,  we  went  on  deck  to  smoke,  as  was 
our  custom,  but  there  was  a  certain  coolness  be- 
tweed  me  and  our  boarder. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  arose  and  went  up 
stairs  to  consider  what  had  better  be  done,  when 
I  saw  the  boarder  standing  on  shore,  near  by. 

"  Hello  !  "  he  cried,  "  the  tide's  down  and  I  got 
ashore  without  any  trouble.  You  stay  where  you 
arc.  I've  hired  a  couple  of  mules  to  tow  the  boat 
back.  They'll  be  here  when  the  tide  rises.  And, 
hello  !  I've  found  the  gang-plank.  It  floated 
ashore  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  here." 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  the  mules  and 
two  men  with  a  long  rope  appeared,  and  we  were 
then  towed  back  to  where  we  belonged. 

And  we  arc  there  yet.     Our  boarder  remains 


Rudder  Grange.  29 

with  us,  as  the  weather  is  still  fine,  and  the  cool 
ness  between  us  is  gradually  diminishing.  But  the 
boat  is  moored  at  both  ends,  and  twice  a  day  I 
look  to  see  if  the  ropes  are  all  right. 

The  petunias  are  growing  beautifully,  but  the 
geraniums  do  not  seem  to  flourish.  Perhaps  there 
is  not  a  sufficient  depth  of  earth  for  them.  Several 
times  our  boarder  has  appeared  to  be  on  the  point 
of  suggesting  something  in  regard  to  them,  but, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  he  says  nothing. 


CHAPTER  III. 

TREATING  OF  A  NOVEL  STYLE  OF  GIRL. 

ONE  afternoon,  as  I  was  hurrying  down  Broad 
way  to  catch  the  five  o'clock  train,  I  met  Water- 
ford.     He  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  I  used  to 
like  him  pretty  well. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  he,  "  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Home,"  I  answered. 

"Is  that  so?"  said  he.  "  I  didn't  know  you 
had  one." 

I  was  a  little  nettled  at  this,  and  so  I  said,  some 
what  brusquely  perhaps  : 

"  But  you  must  have  known  I  lived  somewhere." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  But  I  thought  you  boarded,"  said 
he.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  you  had  a  home." 

"  But  I  have  one,  and  a  very  pleasant  home,  too. 
You  must  excuse  me  for  not  stopping  longer,  as  I 
must  catch  my  train." 

"  Oh  !  I'll  walk  along  with  you,"  said  Waterford, 
and  so  we  went  down  the  street  together. 

"Where  is  your  little  house  ?  "  he  asked. 

Why  in  the  world  he  thought  it  was  a  little  house 
I  could  not  at  the  time  imagine,  unless  he  supposed 


Rudder  Grange,  31 

that  two  people  would  not  require  a  large  one. 
But  I  know,  now,  that  he  lived  in  a  very  little 
house  himself. 

But  it  was  of  no  use  getting  angry  with  Water- 
ford,  especially  as  I  saw  he  intended  walking  all 
the  way  down  to  the  ferry  with  me,  so  I  told  him 
I  didn't  live  in  any  house  at  all. 

"Why,  where  do  you  live?"  he  exclaimed, 
stopping  short. 

"  I  live  in  a  boat,"  said  I. 

"  A  boat !  A  sort  of  '  Rob  Roy  '  arrangement. 
I  suppose.  Well,  I  would  not  have  thought  that 
of  you.  And  your  wife,  I  suppose,  has  gone  home 
to  her  people  ?  " 

"  She  has  done  nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  answered. 
"She  lives  with  me,  and  she  likes  it  very  much. 
We  are  extremely  comfortable,  and  our  boat  is 
not  a  canoe,  or  any  such  nonsensical  affair.  It  is  a 
large,  commodious  canal-boat." 

Waterford  turned  around  and  looked  at  me. 

'•'  Are  you  a  deck-hand?  "  he  asked. 

"  Deck-grandmother  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  get  mad  about  it,"  he  said. 
"  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings  ;  but  I 
couldn't  see  what  else  you  could  be  on  a  canal-boat. 
I  don't  suppose,  for  instance,  that  you're  captain." 

"  But  I  am,"  said  I. 

"  Look  here  !  "  said  Waterford ;  "  this  is  coming 
it  rather  strong,  isn't  it?  " 


32  Rudder  Grange. 

As  I  saw  he  was  getting  angry,  I  told  him  all 
about  it, — told  him  how  we  had  hired  a  stranded 
canal-boat  and  had  fitted  it  up  as  a  house,  and  how 
we  lived  so  cosily  in  it,  and  had  called  it  "  Rudder 
Grange,"  and  how  we  had  taken  a  boarder. 

"  Well !  "  said  he,  "  this  is  certainly  surprising. 
I'm  coming  out  to  see  you  some  day.  It  will  be 
better  than  going  to  Barnum's." 

I  told  him — it  is  the  way  of  society — that  wc 
would  be  glad  to  see  him,  and  we  parted.  Water- 
ford  never  did  come  to  see  us,  and  I  merely  men 
tion  this  incident  to  show  how  some  of  our  friends 
•talked  about  Rudder  Grange,  when  they  first  heard 
that  we  lived  there. 

After  dinner  that  evening,  when  I  went  up  on 
deck  with  Euphemia  to  have  my  smoke,  we  saw 
the  boarder  sitting  on  the  bulwarks  near  the  gar 
den,  with  his  legs  dangling  down  outside. 

"  Look  here  !  "  said  he. 

I  looked,  but  there  was  nothing  unusual  to  sec. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

He  turned  around  and  seeing  Euphemia,  said  : 

"Nothing." 

It  would  be  a  very  stupid  person  who  could  noi 
take  such  a  hint  as  that,  and  so,  after  a  walk  around 
the  garden,  Euphemia  took  occasion  to  go  below 
to  look  at  the  kitchen  fire. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone,  the  boarder  turned  to 
me  and  said  : 


Rudder  Grange.  33 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.  She's  working  herself 
sick." 

"  Sick  ?  "  said  I.     "  Nonsense  !  " 

"  No  nonsense  about  it,"  he  replied. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  boarder  was  right  and 
I  was  wrong.  We  had  spent  several  months  at 
Rudder  Grange,  and  during  this  time  Euphemia 
had  been  working  very  hard,  and  she  really  did 
begin  to  look  pale  and  thin.  Indeed,  it  would  be 
very  wearying  for  any  woman  of  culture  and  refine 
ment,  unused  to  house-work,  to  cook  and  care  for 
two  men,  and  to  do  all  the  work  of  a  canal-boat 
besides. 

But  I  saw  Euphemia  so  constantly,  and  thought 
so  much  of  her,  and  had  her  image  so  continually 
in  my  heart,  that  I  did  not  notice  this  until  our 
boarder  now  called  my  attention  to  it.  I  was  sorry 
that  he  had  to  do  it. 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,"  said  he,  "  I  would 
get  her  a  servant." 

"  If  you  were  in  my  place,"  I  replied,  somewhat 
cuttingly,  "you  would  probably  suggest  a  lot  of 
little  things  which  would  make  everything  very 
easy  for  her." 

"  I'd  try  to,"  he  answered,  without  getting  in  the 
least  angry. 

Although  I  felt  annoyed  that  he  had  suggested 
it,  still  I  made  up  my  mind  that  Euphemia  must 
have  a  servant. 


34  Ruiiilcr  Gra 

She  agreed  quite  readily  when  I  proposed  the 
plan,  and  she  urged  me  to  go  and  see  the  carpen 
ter  that  very  day,  and  get  him  to  come  and  par 
tition  off  a  little  room  for  the  girl. 

It  was  some  time,  of  course,  before  the  room 
was  made  (for  who  ever  heard  of  a  carpenter  com 
ing  at  the  very  time  he  was  wanted  ? )  and,  when 
it  was  finished,  Euphemia  occupied  all  her  spare 
moments  in  getting  it  in  nice  order  for  the  servant 
when  she  should  come.  I  thought  she  was  taking 
too  much  trouble,  but  she  had  her  own  ideas  about 
such  things. 

"  If  a  girl  is  lodged  like  a  pig,  you  must  expect 
her  to  behave  like  a  pig,  and  I  don't  want  that 
kind." 

So  she  put  up  pretty  curtains  at  the  girl's  win 
dow,  and  with  a  box  that  she  stood  on  end,  and 
some  old  muslin  and  a  lot  of  tacks,  she  made  a 
toilet-table  so  neat  and  convenient  that  I  thought 
she  ought  to  take  it  into  our  room  and  give  the 
servant  our  wash-stand. 

But  all  this  time  we  had  no  girl,  and  as  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  about  the  matter,  I  naturally 
grew  impatient,  and  at  last  I  determined  to  go  and 
get  a  girl  myself. 

So,  one  day  at  lunch-time,  I  went  to  an  intelli 
gence  office  in  the  city.  There  I  found  a  large 
room  on  the  second  floor,  and  some  ladies,  and 
one  or  two  men,  sitting  about,  and  a  small  room, 


Rudder  Grange.  35 

back  of  it,  crowded  with  girls  from  eighteen  tcr 
sixty-eight  years  old.     There  were  also  girls  upon 
the  stairs,  and  girls  in  the  hall  below,  besides  some, 
girls  standing  on  the  sidewalk  before  the  door. 

When  I  made  known  my  business  and  had  paid 
my  fee,  one  of  the  several  proprietors  who  were 
wandering  about  the  front  room  went  into  the 
back  apartment  and  soon  returned  with  a  tall 
Irishwoman  with  a  bony  weather-beaten  face  and 
a  large  weather-beaten  shawl.  This  woman  was 
told  to  take  a  chair  by  my  side.  Down  sat  the 
huge  creature  and  stared  at  me.  I  did  not  feel 
very  easy  under  her  scrutinizing  gaze,  but  I  bore 
it  as  best  I  could,  and  immediately  began  to  ask 
her  all  the  appropriate  questions  that  I  could  think 
of.  Some  she  answered  satisfactorily,  and  some 
she  didn't  answer  at  all ;  but  as  soon  as  I  made  a 
pause,  she  began  to  put  questions  herself. 

"  How  many  servants  do  you  kape  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  answered  that  we  intended  to  get  along  with 
one,  and  if  she  understood  her  business,  I  thought 
she  would  find  her  work  very  easy,  and  the  place 
a  good  one. 

She  turned  sharp  upon  me  and  said  : 

"  Have  ye  stationary  wash-tubs  ?  " 

I  hesitated.  I  knew  our  wash-tubs  were  not 
'stationary,  for  I  had  helped  to  carry  them  about. 
But  they  might  be  screwed  fast  and  made  station 
ary  if  that  was  an  important  object.  But,  before 


36  Rudder  Grange. 

making  this  answer,  I  thought  of  the  great  con« 
venicnces  fo^  washing  presented  by  our  residence, 
surrounded  as  it  was,  at  high  tide,  by  water. 

"  Why,  we  live  in  a  stationary  wash-tub,"  I 
said,  smiling. 

The  woman  looked  at  me  steadfastly  for  a  min 
ute,  and  then  she  rose  to  her  feet.  Then  she 
called  out,  as  if  she  were  crying  fish  or  straw 
berries  : 

"Mrs.  Blaine!" 

The  female  keeper  of  the  intelligence  office,  and 
the  male  keeper,  and  a  thin  clerk,  and  all  the 
women  in  the  back  room,  and  all  the  patrons  in 
the  front  room,  jumped  up  and  gathered  around 
us. 

Astonished  and  somewhat  disconcerted,  I  rose 
to  my  feet  and  confronted  the  tall  Irishwoman, 
and  stood  smiling  in  an  uncertain  sort  of  a  way,  as 
if  it  were  all  very  funny  ;  but  I  couldn't  see  the 
point.  I  think  I  must  have  impressed  the  people 
with  the  idea  that  I  wished  I  hadn't  come. 

"  He  says,"  exclaimed  the  woman,  as  if  some 
other  huckster  were  crying  fish  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street — "  he  says  he  lives  in  a  wash-toob." 

"  He's  crazy  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Blaine,  with  an 
air  that  indicated  "  policeman  "  as  plainly  as  if  she 
had  put  her  thought  into  words. 

A  low  murmur  ran  through  the  crowd  of  women-, 
while  the  thin  clerk  r<l;.;cil  toward  the  door. 


Rudder  Grange.  37 

1  saw  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  I  stepped 
back  a  little  from  the  tali  savage,  who  was  breath 
ing  like  a  hot-air  engine  in  front  of  me,  and  made 
my  explanations  to  the  company.  I  told  the  tale 
of  "  Rodder  Grange,"  and  showed  them  how  it 
was  like  to  a  stationary  wash-tub — at  certain  stages 
of  the  tide. 

I  was  listened  to  with  great  attention.  When  I 
nad  finished,  the  tall  woman  turned  around  and 
faced  the  assemblage. 

"An*  he  wants  a  cook  to  make  soup!  In  a 
canal-boat !  "  said  she,  and  off  she  marched  into 
the  back-room,  followed  closely  by  all  the  other 
women. 

"  I  don't  think  we  have  any  one  here  who  would 
suit  you,"  said  Mrs.  Elaine. 

I  didn't  think  so  either.  What  on  earth  would 
Euphemiahave  done  witb.  that  volcanic  Irishwoman 
in  her  little  kitchen  !  I  took  up  my  hat  and  bade 
Mrs.  Elaine  good  morning. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  she,  with  a  distressing 
smile. 

She  had  one  of  those  mouths  that  look  exactly 
like  a  gash  in  the  face. 

I  went  home  without  a  girl.  In  a  day  or  two 
Euphemia  came  to  town  and  got  one.  Appar 
ently  she  got  her  without  any  trouble,  but  I  am 
not  sure. 

She    went   to    a    "Home" — Saint  Somebody's 


38  Rudder  Grange. 

Home — a  place  where  they  keep  orphans  to  let, 
so  to  speak.  Here  Euphemia  selected  a  light- 
haired,  medium-sized  orphan,  and  brought  her 
home. 

The  girl's  name  was  Pomona.  Whether  or  not 
her  parents  gave  her  this  name  is  doubtful.  At 
any  rate,  she  did  not  seem  quite  decided  in  her 
mind  about  it  herself,  for  she  had  not  been  with  us 
more  than  two  weeks  before  she  expressed  a  desire 
to  be  called  Clare.  This  longing  of  her  heart, 
however,  was  denied  her.  So  Euphemia,  who  was 
always  correct,  called  her  Pomona.  I  did  the  same 
whenever  I  could  think  not  to  say  Bologna — which 
seemed  to  come  very  pat  for  some  reason  or 
other. 

As  for  the  boarder,  he  generally  called  her  Al- 
toona,  connecting  her  in  some  way  with  the  pro 
cess  of  stopping  for  refreshments,  in  which  she  was 
an  adept. 

She  was  an  earnest,  hearty  girl.  She  was 
always  in  a  good  humor,  and  when  I  asked  her  to 
do  anything,  she  assented  in  a  bright,  cheerful 
way,  and  in  a  loud  tone  full  of  good-fellowship,  as 
though  she  would  say  : 

"  Certainly,  my  high  old  cock  !  To  be  sure  I 
will.  Don't  worry  about  it — give  your  mind  no 
more  uneasiness  on  that  subject.  I'll  bring  the 
hot  water." 

She  did  not  know  very  much,  but  she  was  de- 


Rudder  Grange.  39 

lighted  to  learn,  and  she  was  very  strong.  What, 
ever  Euphemia  told  her  to  do,  she  did  instantly 
with  a  bang.  What  pleased  her  better  than  any 
thing  else  was  to  run  up  and  down  the  gang-plank, 
carrying  buckets  of  water  to  water  the  garden. 
She  delighted  in  out-door  work,  and  sometimes 
dug  so  vigorously  in  our  garden  that  she  brought 
up  pieces  of  the  deck-planking  with  every  shovel 
ful. 

Our  boarder  took  the  greatest  interest  in  her, 
and  sometimes  watched  her  movements  so  intently 
that  he  let  his  pipe  go  out. 

"  What  a  whacking  girl  that  would  be  to  tread 
out  grapes  in  the  vineyards  of  Italy  !  She'd  make 
wine  cheap,"  he  once  remarked. 

"  Then  I'm  glad  she  isn't  there,"  said  Euphemia, 
"  for  wine  oughtn't  to  be  cheap." 

Euphemia  was  a  thorough  little  temperance 
woman. 

The  one  thing  about  Pomona  that  troubled  me 
more  than  anything  else  was  her  taste  for  literature, 
It  was  not  literature  to  which  I  objected,  but  her 
very  peculiar  taste.  She  would  read  in  the  kitchen 
every  night  after  she  had  washed  the  dishes,  but 
if  she  had  not  read  aloud,  it  would  not  have  made 
so  much  difference  to  me.  But  I  am  naturally 
very  sensitive  to  external  impressions,  and  I  do 
not  like  the  company  of  people  who,  like  our  girl, 
cannot  read  without  pronouncing  in  a  measured 


40  Rudder  Grange. 

and  distinct  voice  every  word  of  what  they  are 
reading.  And  when  the  matter  thus  read  appeals 
to  one's  every  sentiment  of  aversion,  and  there  is 
no  way  of  escaping  it,  the  case  is  hard  indeed. 

From  the  first,  I  felt  inclined  to  order  Pomona, 
if  she  could  not  attain  the  power  of  silent  perusal, 
to  cease  from  reading  altogether ;  but  Euphemia 
would  not  hear  to  this. 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  she  ;  "  it  would  be  cruel  to 
take  from  her  her  only  recreation.  And  she  says 
she  can't  read  any  other  way.  You  needn't  listen 
if  you  don't  want  to." 

That  was  all  very  well  in  an  abstract  point  of 
view ;  but  the  fact  was,  that  in  practice,  the  more 
I  didn't  want  to  listen,  the  more  I  heard. 

As  the  evenings  were  often  cool,  we  sat  in  our 
dining-room,  and  the  partition  between  this  room 
and  the  kitchen  seemed  to  have  no  influence  what 
ever  in  arresting  sound.  So  that  when  I  was  try 
ing  to  read  or  to  reflect,  it  was  by  no  means  ex 
hilarating  to  my  mind  to  hear  from  the  next  room 
that  : 

"The  la  dy  cc  scl  i  a  now  si  zed  the  weep  on 
and  all  though  the  boor  ly  vil  ly  an  re  tain  cd  his  vy 
gor  ous  hold  she  drew  the  blade  through  his  fin 
gers  and  hoorl  ed  it  far  be  hind  her  dryp  ping  with 
jure." 

This  sort  of  thing,  kept  up  for  an  hour  or  so  at 
a  time,  used  to  drive  me  nearly  wild.  But  Eu 


Rudder  Grange.  41 

phemia  did  not  mind  it.  I  believe  that  she  had  so 
delicate  a  sense  of  what  was  proper,  that  she  did 
not  hear  Pomona's  private  readings. 

On  one  occasion,  even  Euphemia's  influence 
could  scarcely  restrain  me  from  violent  interference. 

It  was  our  boarder's  night  out  (when  he  was  de 
tained  in  town  by  his  business),  and  Pomona  was 
sitting  up  to  let  him  in.  This  was  necessary,  for 
our  front-door  (or  main-hatchway)  had  no  night- 
latch,  but  was  fastened  by  means  of  a  bolt.  Eu- 
phemia  and  I  used  to  sit  up  for  him,  but  that  was 
earlier  in  the  season,  when  it  was  pleasant  to  be 
out  on  deck  until  quite  a  late  hour.  But  Pomona 
never  objected  to  sitting  (or  getting)  up  late,  and 
so  we  allowed  this  weekly  duty  to  devolve  on 
her. 

On  this  particular  night  I  was  very  tired  and 
sleepy,  and  soon  after  I  got  into  bed  I  dropped 
into  a  delightful  slumber.  But  it  was  not  long 
before  I  was  awakened  by  the  fact  that : 

"  Sa  rah  did  not  fl  inch  but  gras  ped  the  heat  ed 
i  ron  in  her  un  in  jur  ed  hand  and  when  the  ra  bid 
an  i  mal  a  proach  ed  she  thr  ust  the  lur  id  po  ker 
in  his " 

"  My  conscience  !  "  said  I  to  Euphemia,  "  can't 
that  girl  be  stopped  ?  " 

"  You  wouldn't  have  her  sit  there  and  do  noth 
ing,  would  you  ?  "  said  she. 

"No  ;  but  she  needn't  read  out  that  way." 


42  Rudder  Grange. 

14  She  can't  read  any  other  way,"  said  Euphemia, 
drowsily. 

14  Yell  after  yell  res  oun  ded  as  he  wil  dly  spr 
rang " 

44 1  can't  stand  that,  and  I  won't,"  said  I. 
44  Why  don't  she  go  into  the  kitchen  ? — the  dining- 
room's  no  place  for  her." 

44  She  must  not  sit  there,"  said  Euphemia. 
44  There's  a  window-pane  out.  Can't  you  cover 
up  your  head  ?  " 

44  I  shall  not  be  able  to  breathe  if  I  do  ;  but  I 
suppose  that's  no  matter,"  I  replied. 

The  reading  continued. 

44  Ha,  ha  !  Lord  Mar  mont  thun  der  cd  thou  too 
shalt  suf  fer  all  that  this  poor " 

I  sprang  out  of  bed. 

Euphemia  thought  I  was  going  for  my  pistol, 
and  she  gave  one  bound  and  stuck  her  head  out  o* 
the  door. 

"Pomona,  fly  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Yes,  sma'am,"  said  Pomona  ;  and  she  got  up 
and  flew — not  very  fast,  I  imagine.  Where  she 
flew  to  I  don't  know,  but  she  took  the  lamp  with 
her,  and  I  could  hear  distant  syllables  of  agony 
and  blood,  until  the  boarder  came  home  and  Po 
mona  went  to  bed. 

I  think  that  this  made  an  impression  upon  Eu 
phemia,   for,  although  she  did  not  speak  to  me 
upon  the  subject  (or  any  other)  that  night,  the  next 


Rudder  Grange.  43 

time  1  heard  Pomona  reading,  the  words  ran  some 
what  thus  : 

"  The  as  ton  ish  ing  che  ap  ness  of  land  is  ac 
count  ed  for  by  the  want  of  home  mar  kets,  of 
good  ro  ads  and  che  ap  me  ans  of  trans  por  ta  ti  on 
in  ma  ny  sec  ti  ons  of  the  State. " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TREATING  OF  A  NOVEL  STYLE  OF  BURGLAR. 

I  HAVE  spoken  of  my  pistol.  During  the  early 
part  of  our  residence  at  Rudder  Grange  I  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing  as  owning  a  pistol. 

But  it  was  different  now.  I  kept  a  Colt's  revol 
ver  loaded  in  the  bureau  drawer  in  our  bedroom. 

The  cause  of  this  change  was  burglars.  Not  that 
any  of  these  unpleasant  persons  had  visited  us,  but 
we  much  feared  they  would.  Several  houses  in 
the  vicinity  had  been  entered  during  the  past 
month,  and  we  could  never  tell  when  our  turn 
would  come. 

To  be  sure,  our  boarder  suggested  that  if  we 
were  to  anchor  out  a  little  further  at  night,  no  bur 
glar  would  risk  catching  his  death  of  cold  by  swim 
ming  out  to  us  ;  but  Euphemia  having  replied  that 
it  would  be  rather  difficult  to  move  a  canal-boat 
every  night  without  paddle-wheels,  or  sajlls,  or 
mules,  especially  if  it  were  aground,  this  plan  was 
considered  to  be  effectually  disposed  of. 

So  we  made  up  our  minds  that  we  must  fasten 


Rudder  Grange.  45 

up  everything  very  securely,  and  I  bought  a  pistol 
and  two  burglar- alarms.  One  of  these  I  affixed  to 
the  most  exposed  window,  and  the  other  to  the 
door  which  opened  on  the  deck.  These  alarms 
were  very  simple  affairs,  but  they  were  good 
enough.  When  they  were  properly  attached  to  a 
window  or  door,  and  it  was  opened,  a  little  gong 
sounded  like  a  violently  deranged  clock,  striking 
all  the  hours  of  the  day  at  once. 

The  window  did  not  trouble  us  much,  but  it  was 
rather  irksome  to  have  to  make  the  attachment  to 
the  door  every  night  and  to  take  it  off  every  morn 
ing.  However,  as  Euphemia  said,  it  was  better  to 
take  a  little  trouble  than  to  have  the  house  full  of 
burglars,  which  was  true  enough. 

We  made  all  the  necessary  arrangements  in  case 
burglars  should  make  an  inroad  upon  us.  At  the 
first  sound  of  the  alarm,  Euphemia  and  the  girl 
were  to  lie  flat  on  the  floor  or  get  under  their  beds. 
Then  the  boarder  and  I  were  to  stand  up,  back  to 
back,  each  with  pistol  in  hand,  and  fire  away, 
revolving  on  a  common  centre  the  while.  In  this 
way,  by  aiming  horizontally  at  about  four  feet 
from  the  floor,  we  could  rake'  the  premises,  and 
run  no  risk  of  shooting  each  other  or  the  women 
of  the  family. 

To  be  sure,  there  were  some  slight  objections  to 
this  plan.  The  boarder's  room  was  at  some  dis 
tance  from  ours,  and  he  would  probably  not  hear 


46  Rudder  Grange. 

the  alarm,  and  the  burglars  might  not  be  willing  to 
wait  while  I  went  forward  and  roused  him  up,  and 
brought  him  to  our  part  of  the  house.  But  this 
was  a  minor  difficulty.  I  had  no  doubt  but  that, 
if  it  should  be  necessary,  I  could  manage  to  get 
our  boarder  into  position  in  plenty  of  time. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  there  was  an  oppor 
tunity  of  testing  the  plan. 

About  twelve  o'clock  one  night  one  of  the  alarms 
(that  on  the  kitchen  window)  went  off  with  a  whirr 
and  a  wild  succession  of  clangs.  For  a  moment  I 
thought  the  morning  train  had  arrived,  and  then  I 
woke  up.  Euphemia  was  already  under  the  bed. 

I  hurried  on  a  few  clothes,  and  then  I  tried  to 
find  the  bureau  in  the  dark.  This  was  not  easy, 
as  I  lost  my  bearings  entirely.  But  I  found  it  at 
last,  got  the  top  drawer  open  and  took  out  my  pis 
tol.  Then  I  slipped  out  of  the  room,  hurried  up 
the  stairs,  opened  the  door  (setting  off  the  alarm 
there,  by  the  way),  and  ran  along  the  deck  (there 
was  a  cold  night  wind),  and  hastily  descended  the 
steep  steps  that  led  into  the  boarder's  room.  The 
door  that  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  was  not 
fastened,  and,  as  I  opened  it,  a  little  stray  moon 
light  illumed  the  room.  I  hastily  stepped  to  the 
bed  and  shook  the  boarder  by  the  shoulder.  He 
kept  his  pistol  under  his  pillow. 

In  an  instant  he  was  on  his  feet,  his  hand 
grasped  my  throat,  and  the  cold  muzzle  of  his  Dcr 


Rudder  Grange.  47 

ringer  pistol  was  at  my  forehead.  It  was  an  awfully 
big  muzzle,  like  the  mouth  of  a  bottle. 

I  don't  know  when  I  lived  so  long  as  during  the 
first  minute  that  he  held  me  thus. 

"  Rascal !  "  he  said.  "  Do  as  much  as  breathe, 
and  I'll  pull  the  trigger." 

I  didn't  breathe. 

I  had  an  accident  insurance  on  my  life.  Would 
it  hold  good  in  a  case  like  this  ?  Or  would  Euphe- 
mia  have  to  go  back  to  her  father  ? 

He  pushed  me  back  into  the  little  patch  of 
moonlight. 

'•  Oh!  is  it  you  ?  "  he  said,  relaxing  his  grasp. 
"  What  do  you  want  ?  A  mustard  plaster  ?  " 

He  had  a  package  of  patent  plasters  in  his  room. 
You  took  one  and  dipped  it  in  hot  water,  and  it 
was  all  ready. 

"  No,"  said  I,  gasping  a  little.     "  Burglars." 

"  Oh  !  "  he  said,  and  he  put  down  his  pistol  and 
put  on  his  clothes. 

"  Come  along,"  he  said,  and  away  we  went  over 
the  deck. 

When  we  reached  the  stairs  all  was  dark  and 
quiet  below. 

It  was  a  matter  of  hesitancy  as  to  going  down. 

I  started  to  go  down  first,  but  the  boarder  held 
me  back. 

"  Let  me  go  down,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  my  wife  is  there." 


48  Rudder  Grange 

41  That's  the  very  reason  you  should  not  go,"  lu 
said.  "She  is  safe  enough  yet,  and  they  would 
fire  only  at  a  man.  It  would  be  a  bad  job  for  her 
•  if  you  were  killed.  I'll  go  down." 

So  he  went  down,  slowly  and  cautiously,  his 
pistol  in  one  hand,  and  his  life  in  the  other,  as  it 
were. 

When  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  steps  I 
changed  my  mind.  I  could  not  remain  above 
while  the  burglar  and  Euphemia  were  below,  so  I 
followed. 

The  boarder  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
dining-room,  into  which  the  stairs  led.  I  could 
uot  sec  him,  but  I  put  my  hand  against  him  as  I 
vas  feeling  my  way  across  the  floor. 

I  whispered  to  him  : 

"  Shall  we  put  our  backs  together  and  revolve 
and  fire  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  whispered  back,  "  not  now  ;  he  may 
be  on  a  shelf  by  this  time,  or  under  a  table.  Let's 
look  him  up." 

I  confess  that  I  was  not  very  anxious  to  look 
him  up,  but  I  followed  the  boarder,  as  he  slowly 
made  his  way  toward  the  kitchen  door.  As  we 
opened  the  door  we  instinctively  stopped. 

The  window  was  open,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
moon  that  shone  in,  we  saw  the  rascal  standing  on  a 
chair,  leaning  out  of  the  window,  evidently  just 
ready  to  escape.  Fortunately,  we  were  unheard. 


Rudder  Grange.  49 

"  Let's  pull  him  in,"  whispered  the  boarder. 

"  No,"  I  whispered  in  reply.  "  We  don't  want 
him  in.  Let's  hoist  him  out." 

"  All  right,"  returned  the  boarder. 

We  laid  our  pistols  on  the  floor,  and  softly  ap 
proached  the  window.  Being  barefooted,  out 
steps  were  noiseless. 

"  Hoist  when  I  count  three,"  breathed  the 
boarder  into  my  ear. 

We  reached  the  chair.  Each  of  us  took  hold 
of  two  of  its  legs. 

"  One — two — three  !  "  said  the  boarder,  and 
together  we  gave  a  tremendous  lift  and  shot  the 
wretch  out  of  the  window. 

The  tide  was  high,  and  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  water  around  the  boat.  We  heard  a  rousing 
splash  outside. 

Now  there  was  no  need  of  silence. 

"Shall  we  run  on  deck  and  shoot  him  as  he 
swims  ?  "  I  cried. 

"No,"  said  the  boarder,  "we'll  get  the  boat- 
hook,  and  jab  him  if  he  tries  to  climb  up." 

We  rushed  on  deck.  I  seized  the  boat-hook  and 
looked  over  the  side.  But  I  saw  no  one. 

"  He's  gone  to  the  bottom  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  He  didn't  go  very  far  then,"  said  the  boarder, 
'*  for  it's  not  more  than  two  feet  deep  there." 

Just  then  our  attention  was  attracted  by  a  voice 
from  the  shore. 
3 


50  Rudder  Grange. 

11  Will  you  please  let  down  the  gang-plank  ?  " 

We  looked  ashore,  and  there  stood  Pomona, 
dripping  from  every  pore. 

We  spoke  no  words,  but  lowered  the  gang 
plank. 

She  came  aboard. 

"Good  night!"  said  the  boarder,  and  he  went 
to  bed. 

"Pomona!"  said  I,  "what  have  you  been 
doing?" 

"I  was  a  lookin'  at  the  moon,  sir,  when  pop! 
the  chair  bounced,  and  out  I  went." 

"  You  shouldn't  do  that,"  I  said,  sternly. 
"  Some  day  you'll  be  drowned.  Take  off  your 
wet  things  and  go  to  bed." 

"  Yes,  sma'am — sir,  I  mean,"  said  she,  as  she 
went  down-stairs. 

When  I  reached  my  room  I  lighted  the  lamp, 
and  found  Euphemia  still  under  the  bed. 

"  Is  it  all  right  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "There  was  no  burglar. 
Pomona  fell  out  of  the  window." 

"  Did  you  get  her  a  plaster  ?  "  asked  Euphemia, 
drowsily. 

"  No,  she  did  not  need  one.  She's  all  right 
now.  Were  you  worried  about  me,  dear  ?  " 

"  No,  I  trusted  in  you  entirely,  and  I  think  I 
dozed  a  little  under  the  bed." 

In  one  minute  she  was  asleep. 


Rudder  Grange.  51 

The  boarder  and  I  did  not  make  this  matter  a 
subject  of  conversation  afterward,  but  Euphemia 
gave  the  girl  a  lecture  on  her  careless  ways,  and 
made  her  take  several  Dover's  powders  the  next 
day. 

An  important  fact  in  domestic  economy  was 
discovered  about  this  time  by  Euphemia  and  my 
self.  Perhaps  we  were  not  the  first  to  discover  it, 
but  we  certainly  did  find  it  out, — and  this  fact  was, 
that  housekeeping  costs  money.  At  the  end  of 
every  week  we  counted  up  our  expenditures — it 
was  no  trouble  at  all  to  count  up  our  receipts — • 
and  every  week  the  result  was  more  unsatisfac 
tory. 

"If  we  could  only  get  rid  of  the  disagreeable 
balance  that  has  to  be  taken  along  all  the  time, 
and  which  gets  bigger  and  bigger  like  a  snow-ball, 
I  think  we  would  find  the  accounts  more  satisfac 
tory,"  said  Euphemia. 

This  was  on  a  Saturday  night.  We  always  got 
our  pencils  and  paper  and  money  at  the  end  of  the 
week. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  with  an  attempt  to  appear  face 
tious  and  unconcerned,  "  but  it  would  be  all  well 
enough  if  we  could  take  that  snow-ball  to  the  fire 
and  melt  it  down." 

"  But  there  never  is  any  fire  where  there  are 
snow-balls,"  said  Euphemia. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  and  that's  just  the  trouble." 


52  Rudder  Grange. 

It  was  on  the  following  Thursday,  when  I  came 
home  in  the  evening,  that  Euphcmia  met  me  with 
a  glowing  face.  It  rather  surprised  me  to  see  her 
look  so  happy,  for  she  had  been  very  quiet  and 
preoccupied  for  the  first  part  of  the  week.  So 
much  so,  indeed,  that  I  had  thought  of  ordering 
smaller  roasts  for  a  week  or  two,  and  taking  her 
to  a  Thomas  Concert  with  the  money  saved.  But 
this  evening  she  looked  as  if  she  did  not  need 
Thomas's  orchestra. 

"  What  makes  you  so  bright,  my  dear  ?  "  said  I. 
when  I  had  greeted  her.  "  Has  anything  jolly 
happened  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  she  ;  "  nothing  yet,  but  I  am  going 
to  make  a  fire  to  melt  snow-balls." 

Of  course  I  was  very  anxious  to  know  how  she 
was  going  to  do  it,  but  she  would  not  tell  me.  It 
was  a  plan  that  she  intended  to  keep  to  herself 
until  she  saw  how  it  worked.  I  did  not  press  her, 
because  she  had  so  few  secrets,  and  I  did  not  hear 
anything  about  this  plan  until  it  had  been  carried 
out. 

Her  scheme  was  as  follows  :  After  thinking  over 
our  financial  condition  and  puzzling  her  brain  to 
find  out  some  way  of  bettering  it,  she  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  she  would  make  some  money 
by  her  own  exertions,  to  help  defray  our  house 
hold  expenses.  She  never  had  made  any  money, 
but  that  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  begin. 


Rudder  Grange.  53 

It  was  too  bad  that  I  should  have  to  toil  and  toil 
and  not  make  nearly  enough  money  after  all.  So 
she  would  go  to  work  and  earn  something  with 
her  own  hands. 

She  had  heard  of  an  establishment  in  the  city, 
where  ladies  of  limited  means,  or  transiently  impe 
cunious,  could,  in  a  very  quiet  and  private  way, 
get  sewing  to  do.  They  could  thus  provide  for 
their  needs  without  any  one  but  the  officers  of  the 
institution  knowing  anything  about  it. 

So  Euphemia  went  to  this  place,  and  she  got 
some  work.  It  was  not  a  very  large  bundle,  but 
it  was  larger  than  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
carry,  and,  what  was  perfectly  dreadful,  it  was 
wrapped  up  in  a  newspaper!  When  Euphemia 
told  me  the  story,  she  said  that  this  was  too  much 
for  her  courage.  She  could  not  go  on  the  cars,  * 
and  perhaps  meet  people  belonging  to  our  church, 
with  a  newspaper  bundle  under  her  arm. 

But  her  genius  for  expedients  saved  her  from  this 
humiliation.  She  had  to  purchase  some  sewing- 
cotton,  and  some  other  little  things,  and  when  she 
had  bought  them,  she  handed  her  bundle  to  the 
woman  behind  the  counter,  and  asked  her  if  she 
would  not  be  so  good  as  to  have  that  wrapped  up 
with  the  other  things.  It  was  a  good  deal  to  ask, 
she  knew,  and  the  woman  smiled,  for  the  articles 
she  had  bought  would  not  make  a  package  as  large 
as  her  hand.  However,  her  request  was  complied 


54  Rudder  Grange. 

with,  and  she  took  away  a  very  decent  package, 
with  the  card  of  the  store  stamped  on  the  outside. 
I  suppose  that  there  are  not  more  than  half  a  dozen 
people  in  this  country  who  would  refuse  Euphe- 
mia  anything  that  she  would  be  willing  to  ask  for. 

So  she  took  the  work  home,  and  she  labored 
faithfully  at  it  for  about  a  week.  She  did  not 
suppose  it  would  take  her  so  long  ;  but  she  was 
not  used  to  such  very  plain  sewing,  and  was 
much  afraid  that  she  would  not  do  it  neatly 
enough.  Besides  this,  she  could  only  work  on  it 
in  the  daytime — when  I  was  away — and  was,  of 
course,  interrupted  a  great  deal  by  her  ordinary 
household  duties,  and  the  necessity  of  a  careful 
oversight  of  Pomona's  somewhat  erratic  methods 
of  doing  her  work. 

But  at  last  she  finished  the  job  and  took  it  into 
the  city.  She  did  not  want  to  spend  any  more 
money  on  the  trip  than  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  so  was  very  glad  to  find  that  she  had  a  rem 
nant  of  pocket-money  sufficient  to  pay  her  fare 
both  ways. 

When  she  reached  the  city,  she  walked  up  to 
the  place  where  her  work  was  to  be  delivered,  and 
found  it  much  farther  when  she  went  on  foot  than 
it  had  seemed  to  her  riding  in  the  street  cars. 
She  handed  over  her  bundle  to  the  proper  person, 
and,  as  it  was  soon  examined  and  approved,  she 
received  her  pay  therefor. 


Ruader  Grange.  55 

It  amounted  to  sixty  cents.  She  had  made  no 
bargain,  but  she  was  a  little  astonished.  How 
ever,  she  said  nothing,  but  left  the  place  without 
asking  for  any  more  work.  In  fact  she  forgot  all 
about  it.  She  had  an  idea  that  everything  was  all 
wrong,  and  that  idea  engrossed  her  mind  entirely. 
There  was  no  mistake  about  the  sum  paid,  for  the 
lady  clerk  had  referred  to  the  printed  table  of 
prices  when  she  calculated  the  amount  due.  But 
something  was  wrong,  and,  at  the  moment,  Eu- 
phemia  could  not  tell  what  it  was.  She  left  the 
place,  and  started  to  walk  back  to  the  ferry.  But 
she  was  so  tired  and  weak,  and  hungry — it  was 
now  an  hour  or  two  past  her  regular  luncheon 
time — that  she  thought  she  should  faint  if  she  did 
not  go  somewhere  and  get  some  refreshments. 

So,  like  a  sensible  little  woman  as  she  was,  she 
went  into  a  restaurant.  She  sat  down  at  a  table, 
and  a  waiter  came  to  her  to  see  what  she  would 
have.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  eating-houses, 
and  perhaps  this  was  the  first  time  that  she  had 
ever  visited  one  alone.  What  she  wanted  was 
something  simple.  So  she  ordered  a  cup  of  tea 
and  some  rolls,  and  a  piece  of  chicken.  The  meal 
was  a  very  good  one,  and  Euphemia  enjoyed  it. 
When  she  had  finished,  she  went  up  to  the  counter 
to  settle.  Her  bill  was  sixty  cents.  She  paid  the 
money  that  she  had  just  received,  and  walked 
down  to  the  ferry — all  in  a  daze,  she  said.  When 


56  Rudder  Grange. 

she  got  home  she  thought  it  over,  and  then  she 
cried. 

After  a  while  she  dried  her  eyes,  and  when  I 
came  home  she  told  me  all  about  it. 

"  I  give  it  up,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  believe  I 
can  help  you  any." 

Poor  little  thing !  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and 
comforted  her,  and  before  bedtime  I  had  con 
vinced  her  that  she  was  fully  able  to  help  me  bet 
ter  than  any  one  else  on  earth,  and  that  without 
puzzling  her  brains  about  business,  or  wearing  her 
self  out  by  sewing  for  pay. 

So  we  went  on  in  our  old  way,  and  by  keeping 
our  attention  on  our  weekly  balance,  we  prevented 
it  from  growing  very  rapidly. 

We  fell  back  on  our  philosophy  (it  was  all  the 
Capital  we  had),  and  became  as  calm  and  con 
tented  as  circumstances  allowed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

POMONA  PRODUCES  A  PARTIAL  REVOLUTION  IN 
RUDDER  GRANGE. 

EUPHEMIA  began  to  take  a  great  deal  of  com 
fort  in  her  girl.  Every  evening  she  had  some  new 
instance  to  relate  of  Pomona's  inventive  abilities 
and  aptness  in  adapting  herself  to  the  peculiarities 
of  our  method  of  housekeeping. 

"  Only  to  think ! "  said  she,  one  afternoon, 
"  Pomona  has  just  done  another  very  smart  thing. 
You  know  what  a  trouble  it  has  always  been  for 
us  to  carry  all  our  waste  water  upstairs,  and  throw 
it  over  the  bulwarks.  Well,  she  has  remedied  all 
that.  She  has  cut  a  nice  little  low  window  in 
the  side  of  the  kitchen,  and  has  made  a  shutter 
of  the  piece  she  cut  out,  with  leather  hinges  to 
it,  and  now  she  can  just  open  this  window,  throw 
the  water  out,  shut  it  again,  and  there  it  is  !  I  tell 
you  she's  smart." 

"  Yes  ;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  I  said  ;  "  but 
I  think  that  there  is  danger  of  her  taking  more  in 
terest  in  such  extraordinary  and  novel  duties  than 
in  the  regular  work  of  the  house." 
3* 


58  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Now,  don't  discourage  the  girl,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  "  for  she  is  of  the  greatest  use  to  me,  and  I 
don't  want  you  to  be  throwing  cold  water  about 
like  some  people." 

"  Not  even  if  I  throw  it  out  of  Pomona's  little 
door,  I  suppose." 

"  No.  Don't  throw  it  at  all.  Encourage  peo 
ple.  What  would  the  world  be  if  everybody 
chilled  our  aspirations  and  extraordinary  efforts  ? 
Like  Fulton's  steamboat." 

"  All  right,"  I  said  ;  "  I'll  not  discourage  her." 

It  was  now  getting  late  in  the  season.  It  was 
quite  too  cool  to  sit  out  on  deck  in  the  evening, 
and  our  garden  began  to  look  desolate. 

Our  boarder  had  wheeled  up  a  lot  of  fresh  earth, 
and  had  prepared  a  large  bed,  in  which  he  had 
planted  turnips.  They  made  an  excellent  fall  crop, 
he  assured  us. 

From  being  simply  cool  it  began  to  be  rainy, 
and  the  weather  grew  decidedly  unpleasant.  But 
our  boarder  bade  us  take  courage.  This  was 
probably  the  "  equinoctial,"  and  when  it  was  over 
there  would  be  a  delightful  Indian  summer,  and 
the  turnips  would  grow  nicely. 

This  sounded  very  well,  but  the  wind  blew  up 
cold  at  night,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  un 
pleasant  rain. 

One  night  it  blew  what  Pomona  called  a"  whirl- 
icane,"  and  we  went  to  bed  very  early  to  keep 


Rudder  Grange.  59 

warm.  We  heard  our  boarder  on  deck  in  the  gar 
den  after  we  were  in  bed,  and  Euphemia  said  she 
could  not  imagine  what  he  was  about,  unless  he 
was  anchoring  his  turnips  to  keep  them  from  blow 
ing  away. 

During  the  night  I  had  a  dream.  I  thought  I 
was  a  boy  again,  and  was  trying  to  stand  upon 
my  head,  a  feat  for  which  I  had  been  famous.  But 
instead  of  throwing  myself  forward  on  my  hands, 
and  then  raising  my  heels  backward  over  my  head, 
in  the  orthodox  manner,  I  was  on  my  back,  and 
trying  to  get  on  my  head  from  that  position.  I 
awoke  suddenly,  and  found  that  the  footboard  of 
the  bedstead  was  much  higher  than  our  heads. 
We  were  lying  on  a  very  much  inclined  plane, 
with  our  heads  downward.  I  roused  Euphemia, 
and  we  both  got  out  of  bed,  when,  at  almost  the 
same  moment,  we  slipped  down  the  floor  into  ever 
so  much  water. 

Euphemia  was  scarcely  awake,  and  she  fell  down 
gurgling.  It  was  dark,  but  I  heard  her  fall,  and  I 
jumped  over  the  bedstead  to  her  assistance.  I 
had  scarcely  raised  her  up,  when  I  heard  a  pound 
ing  at  the  front  door  or  main-hatchway,  and  our 
boarder  shouted  : 

"  Get  up  !  Come  out  of  that !  Open  the  door  ! 
The  old  boat's  turning  over  !  " 

My  heart  fell  within  me,  but  I  clutched  Euphe 
mia.  I  said  no  word,  and  she  simply  screamed.  \ 


60  Rudder  Grange. 

dragged  her  over  the  floor,  sometimes  in  ci.<.  water 
and  sometimes  out  of  it.  I  got  the  dining-room, 
door  open  and  set  her  on  the  stairs.  They  were  irt 
a  topsy-turvy  condition,  but  they  were  dry.  I 
found  a  lantern  which  hung  on  a  nail,  with  a 
match-box  under  it,  and  I  struck  a  light.  Then  I 
scrambled  back  and  brought  her  some  clothes. 

All  this  time  the  boarder  was  yelling  and  pound 
ing  at  the  door.  When  Euphemia  was  ready  I 
opened  the  door  and  took  her  out. 

"  You  go  dress  yourself,"  said  the  boarder, 
"I'll  hold  her  here  until  you  come  back." 

I  left  her  and  found  my  clothes  (which,  chair 
and  all,  had  tumbled  against  the  foot  of  the  bed 
and  so  had  not  gone  into  the  water),  and  soon  re 
appeared  on  deck.  The  wind  was  blowing  strong 
ly,  but  it  did  not  now  seem  to  be  very  cold.  The 
deck  reminded  me  of  the  gang-plank  of  a  Harlem 
steamboat  at  low  tide.  It  was  inclined  at  an  angle 
of  more  than  forty-five  degrees,  I  am  sure.  There 
was  light  enough  for  us  to  see  about  us,  but  the 
scene  and  all  the  dreadful  circumstances  made  me 
feel  the  most  intense  desire  to  wake  up  and  find  it 
all  a  dream.  There  was  no  doubt,  however,  about 
the  boarder  being  wide  awake. 

"  Now  then,"  said  he,  "  take  hold  of  her  onthar 
side  and  we'll  help  her  over  here.  You  scramble 
down  on  that  side  ;  it's  all  dry  just  there.  The 
boat's  turned  over  toward  the  water,  and  I'll  lower 


Rudder  Grange.  61 

her  down  to  you.  I'll  let  a  rope  over  the  sides. 
You  can  hold  on  to  that  as  you  go  down." 

I  got  over  the  bulwarks  and  let  myself  down  to 
the  ground.  Then  the  boarder  got  Euphemia  up 
and  slipped  her  over  the  side,  holding  to  her 
hands,  and  letting  her  gently  down  until  I  could 
reach  her.  She  said  never  a  word,  but  screamed 
at  times.  I  carried  her  a  little  way  up  the  shore 
and  set  her  down.  I  wanted  to  take  her  up  to  a 
house  near  by,  where  we  bought  our  milk,  but 
she  declined  to  go  until  we  had  saved  Pomona. 

So  I  went  back  to  the  boat,  having  carefully 
wrapped  up  Euphemia,  to  endeavor  to  save  the 
<*irl.  I  found  that  the  boarder  had  so  arranged  the 
gang-plank  that  it  was  possible,  without  a  very 
great  exercise  of  agility,  to  pass  from  the  shore  to 
the  boat.  When  I  first  saw  him,  on  reaching  the 
shelving  deck,  he  was  staggering  up  the  stairs  with 
a  dining-room  chair  and  a  large  framed  engraving 
of  Raphael'-s  Dante — an  ugly  picture,  but  full  of 
true  feeling  ;  at  least  so  Euphemia  always  declared, 
though  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  know  what  she 
meant. 

"Where  is  Pomona?"  I  said,  endeavoring  to 
stand  on  the  hill-side  of  the  deck. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  "  but  we  must  get  the 
things  out.  The  tide's  rising  and  the  wind's  get 
ting  up.  The  boat  will  go  over  before  we  kno\» 
it." 


62  Rudder  Grange. 

"But  we  must  find  the  girl,"  I  said.  "She 
can't  be  left  to  drown." 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  matter  much,"  said  he, 
getting  over  the  side  of  the  boat  with  his  awkward 
load.  "  She  would  be  of  about  as  much  use 
drowned  as  any  other  way.  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
that  hole  she  cut  in  the  side  of  the  boat,  this  would 
never  have  happened." 

"  You  don't  think  it  was  that  !  "  I  said,  holding 
the  picture  and  the  chair  while  he  let  himself  down 
to  the  gang-plank. 

"Yes,  it  was,"  he  replied.  "The  tide'*  very 
high,  and  the  water  got  over  that  hole  and  rushed 
in.  The  water  and  the  wind  will  finish  this  old 
craft  before  very  long." 

And  then  he  took  his  load  from  me  and  dashed 
down  the  gang-plank.  I  went  below  to  look  for 
Pomona.  The  lantern  still  hung  on  the  nail,  and  I 
took  it  down  and  went  into  the  kitchen.  There 
was  Pomona,  dressed,  and  with  her  hat  on,  quietly 
packing  some  things  in  a  basket. 

"  Come,  hurry  out  of  this,"  I  cried.  "  Don't 
you  know  that  this  house — this  boat,  I  mean,  is  a 
wreck  ?  " 

"Yes,  sma'am — sir,  I  mean — I  know  it,  and  I 
suppose  we  shall  soon  be  at  the  mercy  of  the 
waves." 

"  Well,  then,  go  as  quickly  as  you  can.  What 
are  you  putting  in  that  basket?  " 


Rudder  Grange.  6j 

•'  Food,"  she  said.     "  We  may  need  it." 

I  took  her  by  the  shoulder  and  hurried  her  o\ 
deck,  over  the  bulwark,  down  the  gang-plank,  and 
so  on  to  the  place  where  I  had  left  Euphemia. 

I  found  the  dear  girl  there,  quiet  and  collected, 
all  up  in  a  little  bunch,  to  shield  herself  from  the 
wind.  I  wasted  no  time,  but  hurried  the  two 
women  over  to  the  house  of  our  milk-merchant. 
There,  with  some  difficuly,  I  roused  the  good 
woman,  and  after  seeing  Euphemia  and  Pomona 
safely  in  the  house,  I  left  them  to  tell  the  tale,  and 
ran  back  to  the  boat. 

The  boarder  was  working  like  a  Trojan.  He 
had  already  a  pile  of  our  furniture  on  the  beach. 

I  set  about  helping  him,  and  for  an  hour  we 
labored  at  this  hasty  and  toilsome  moving.  It 
was  indeed  a  toilsome  business.  The  floors  were 
shelving,  the  stairs  leaned  over  sideways,  ever  so 
far,  and  the  gang-plank  was  desperately  short  and 
steep. 

Still,  we  saved  quite  a  number  of  household 
articles.  Some  things  we  broke  and  some  we  for 
got,  and  some  things  were  too  big  to  move  in  this 
way  ;  but  we  did  very  well,  considering  the  cir 
cumstances. 

The  wind  roared,  the  tide  rose,  and  the  boat 
groaned  and  creaked.  We  were  in  the  kitchen, 
trying  to  take  the  stove  apart  (the  boarder  was 
sure  we  could  carry  it  up,  if  we  could  get  the  pip< 


64  Rudder  Grange. 

out  and  the  legs  and  doors  off),  when  we  heard  a 
crash.  We  rushed  on  deck  and  found  that  the 
garden  had  fallen  in  !  Making  our  way  as  well  as 
we  could  toward  the  gaping  rent  in  the  deck,  we 
saw  that  the  turnip-bed  had  gone  down  bodily  into 
the  boarder's  room.  He  did  not  hesitate,  but 
scrambled  down  his  narrow  stairs.  I  followed  him. 
He  struck  a  match  that  he  had  in  his  pocket,  and 
lighted  a  little  lantern  that  hung  under  the  stairs. 
His  room  was  a  perfect  rubbish  heap.  The  floor, 
bed,  chairs,  pitcher,  basin — everything  was  covered 
or  filled  with  garden  mold  and  turnips.  Never 
did  I  behold  such  a  scene.  He  stood  in  the  midst 
of  it,  holding  his  lantern  high  above  his  head.  At 
Jength  he  spoke. 

"If  we  had  time,"  he  said,  "we  might  come 
down  here  and  pick  out  a  lot  of  turnips." 

"  Hut  how  about  your  furniture  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  that's  ruined  !  "  he  replied. 

So  we  did  not  attempt  to  save  any  of  it,  but  we 
got  hold  of  his  trunk  and  carried  that  on  shore. 

When  we  returned,  we  found  that  the  water  was 
pouring  through  his  partition,  making  the  room  a 
lake  of  mud.  And,  as  the  water  was  rising  rapidly 
below,  and  the  boat  was  keeling  over  more  and 
more,  we  thought  it  was  time  to  leave,  and  we 
left. 

It  would  not  do  to  go  far  away  from  our  posses 
sions,  which  were  piled  up  in  a  sad-looking  heap 


Rudder  Grange.  65 

on  the  shore ;  and  so,  after  I  had  gone  over  to  the 
milk-woman's  to  assure  Euphemia  of  our  safety, 
the  boarder  and  I  passed  the  rest  of  the  night — • 
there  was  not  much  of  it  left — in  walking  up  and 
down  the  beach  smoking  some  cigars  which  he 
(  fortunately  had  in  his  pocket. 

In  the  morning  I  took  Euphemia  to  the  hotel, 
about  a  mile  away — and  arranged  for  the  storage 
of  our  furniture  there,  until  we  could  find  another 
habitation.  This  habitation,  we  determined,  was 
to  be  in  a  substantial  house,  or  part  of  a  house, 
which  should  not  be  affected  by  the  tides. 

During  the  morning  the  removal  of  our  effects 
was  successfully  accomplished,  and  our  boarder 
went  to  town  to  look  for  a  furnished  room.  He 
had  nothing  but  his  trunk  to  take  to  it. 

In  the  afternoon  I  left  Euphemia  at  the  hotel, 
where  she  was  taking  a  nap  (she  certainly  needed 
it,  for  she  had  spent  the  night  in  a  wooden  rocking- 
chair  at  the  milk-woman's),  and  I  strolled  down  to 
the  river  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  remains  of  old 
Rudder  Grange. 

I  felt  sadly  enough  as  I  walked  along  the  well- 
worn  path  to  the  caijsl-boat,  and  thought  how  it 
had  been  worn  by  my  feet  more  than  any  other's, 
and  how  gladly  I  had  walked  that  way,  so  often 
during  that  delightful  summer.  I  forgot  all  that 
had  been  disagreeable,  and  thought  only  of  the 
happy  times  we  had  had. 


66  Rudder  Grange. 

It  was  a  beautiful  autumn  afternoon,  and  the 
wind  had  entirely  died  away.  When  I  came  with 
in  sight  of  our  old  home,  it  presented  a  doleful 
appearance.  The  bow  had  drifted  out  into  the 
river,  and  was  almost  entirely  under  water.  The 
stern  stuck  up  in  a  mournful  and  ridiculous  manner, 
with  its  keel,  instead  of  its  broadside,  presented  to 
the  view  of  persons  on  the  shore.  As  I  neared 
the  boat  I  heard  a  voice.  I  stopped  and  listened. 
There  was  no  one  in  sight.  Could  the  sounds 
come  from  the  boat  ?  I  concluded  that  it  must  be 
so,  and  I  walked  up  closer.  Then  I  heard  dis 
tinctly  the  words  : 

"  He  grasp  ed  her  by  the  thro  at  and  yell  ed, 
swear  to  me  thou  nev  er  wilt  re  veal  my  se  cret, 
or  thy  hot  heart's  blood  shall  stain  this  mar  bel  flo 
or  ;  she  gave  one  gry  vy  ous  gasp  and " 

It  was  Pomona  ! 

Doubtless  she  had  climbed  up  the  stern  of  the 
boat  and  had  descended  into  the  depths  of  the 
wreck  to  rescue  her  beloved  book,  the  reading  of 
which  had  so  long  been  interrupted  by  my  harsh 
decrees.  Could  I  break  in  on  this  one  hour  of 
rapture  ?  I  had  not  the  heart  to  do  it,  and  as  I 
slowly  moved  away,  there  came  to  me  the  last 
words  that  I  ever  heard  from  Rudder  Grange  : 

"  And  with  one  wild  shry  ik  to  heav  en  her 
heart's  bio  od  spat  ter  ed  that  prynce  ly  home  of 
woe " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  NEW  RUDDER  GRANGE. 

i  HAVE  before  given  an  account  of  the  difficulties 
•;e  encountered  when  we  started  out  house-hunt 
ing,  and  it  was  this  doleful  experience  which  made 
Euphemia  declare  that  before  we  sat  out  on  a 
second  search  for  a  residence,  we  should  know 
exactly  what  we  wanted. 

To  do  this,  we  must  know  how  other  people 
live,  we  must  examine  into  the  advantages  and 
disadvantages  of  the  various  methods  of  house 
keeping,  and  make  up  our  minds  on  the  subject. 

When  we  came  to  this  conclusion  we  were  in  a 
city  boarding-house,  and  were  entirely  satisfied 
that  this  style  of  living  did  not  suit  us  at  all. 

At  this  juncture  I  received  a  letter  from  the 
gentleman  who  had  boarded  with  us  on  the  canal- 
boat.  Shortly  after  leaving  us  the  previous  fall, 
he  had  married  a  widow  lady  with  two  children, 
and  was  now  keeping  house  in  a  French  flat  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  city.  We  had  called  upon  the 
happy  couple  soon  after  their  marriage,  and  th«. 


68  Rudder  Grange. 

letter,  now  received,  contained  an  invitation  for  us 
to  come  and  dine,  and  spend  the  night. 

"We'll  go,"  said  Euphemia.  "There's  noth 
ing  I  want  so  much  as  to  see  how  people  keep 
house  in  a  French  flat  Perhaps  we'll  like  it 
And  I  must  see  those  children."  So  we  went. 

The  house,  as  Euphemia  remarked,  was  any 
thing  but  flat.  It  was  very  tall  indeed — the  tallest 
house  in  the  neighborhood.  We  entered  the  ves 
tibule,  the  outer  door  being  open,  and  beheld,  on 
one  side  of  us,  a  row  of  bell-handles.  Above  each 
of  these  handles  was  the  mouth  of  a  speaking- 
tube,  and  above  each  of  these,  a  little  glazed  frame 
containing  a  visiting-card. 

"  Isn't  this  cute  ?  "  said  Euphemia,  reading  over 
the  cards.  "  Here's  his  name  and  this  is  his  bell 
and  tube  !  Which  would  you  do  first,  ring  or 
blow  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  you  don't  blow  up  those 
tubes.  We  must  ring  the  bell,  just  as  if  it  were  an 
ordinary  front-door  bell,  and  instead  of  coming  to 
the  door,  some  one  will  call  down  the  tube  to  us." 

I  rang  the  bell  under  the  boarder's  name,  and 
very  soon  a  voice  at  the  tube  said  : 

"Well?" 

Then  I  told  our  names,  and  in  an  instant  the 
front  door  opened. 

"  Why,  their  flat  must  be  right  here,"  whis 
pered  Kuphemia.  "  How  quickly  the  girl  came  !  * 


Rudder  Grange.  69 

And  she  looked  for  the  girl  as  we  entered.*  But 
there  was  no  one  there. 

"  Their  flat  is  on  the  fifth  story,"  said  I.  "He 
mentioned  that  in  his  letter.  We  had  better  shut 
the  door  and  go  up." 

Up  and  up  the  softly  carpeted  stairs  we  climbed, 
and  not  a  soul  we  saw  or  heard. 

"  It  is  like  an  enchanted  cavern,"  said  Euphe- 
mia.  "  You  say  the  magic  word,  the  door  in  the 
rock  opens  and  you  go  on,  and  on,  through  the 
vaulted  passages " 

"  Until  you  come  to  the  ogre, "said  the  boarder, 
who  was  standing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  He  did 
not  behave  at  all  like  an  ogre,  for  he  was  very 
glad  to  see  us,  and  so  was  his  wife.  After  we  had 
settled  down  in  the  parlor  and  the  boarder's  wife 
had  gone  to  see  about  something  concerning  the 
dinner,  Euphemia  asked  after  the  children. 

"  I  hope  they  haven't  gone  to  bed,"  she  said, 
"  for  I  do  so  want  to  see  the  dear  little  things." 

The  ex-boarder,  as  Euphemia  called  him,  smiled 
grimly. 

"They're  not  so  very  little,"  he  said.  "My 
wife's  son  is  nearly  grown.  He  is  at  an  academy 
in  Connecticut,  and  he  expects  to  go  into  a  civil 
engineer's  office  in  the  spring.  His  sister  is  older 
than  he  is.  My  wife  married — in  the  first  instance 
—when  she  was  very  young  —  very  young  in 
deed." 


7O  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Euphemia ;  and  then,  after  a  pause, 
"  And  neither  of  them  is  at  home  now  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  ex-boarder.  "  By  the  way, 
what  do  you  think  of  this  dado  ?  It  is  a  portable 
one  ;  I  devised  it  myself.  You  can  take  it  away 
with  you  to  another  house  when  you  move.  But 
there  is  the  dinner-bell.  I'll  show  you  over  the 
establishment  after  we  have  had  something  to 
eat." 

After  our  meal  we  made  a  tour  of  inspection. 
The  flat,  which  included  the  whole  floor,  contained 
nine  or  ten  rooms,  of  all  shapes  and  sizes.  The 
corners  in  some  of  the  rooms  were  cut  off  and 
shaped  up  into  closets  and  recesses,  so  that 
Euphemia  said  the  corners  of  every  room  were  in 
some  other  room. 

Near  the  back  of  the  flat  was  a  dumb-waiter, 
with  bells  and  speaking-tubes.  When  the  butcher, 
the  baker,  or  the  kerosene-lamp  maker,  came  each 
morning,  he  rang  the  bell,  and  called  up  the  tube 
to  know  what  was  wanted.  The  order  was  called 
down,  and  he  brought  the  things  in  the  afternoon. 

All  this  greatly  charmed  Euphemia.  It  was  so 
cute,  so  complete.  There  were  no  interviews  with 
disagreeable  trades-people,  none  of  the  ordinary 
annoyances  of  housekeeping.  Everything  seemed 
to  be  done  with  a  bell,  a  speaking-tube  or  a  crank. 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  ex-boarder,  "if  it  were  not 
lor  people  tripping  over  the  wires,  I  could  rig  up 


Rudder  Grane. 


attachments  by  which  I  could  sit  in  the  parlor,  and 
by  using  pedals  and  a  key-board,  I  could  do  all 
the  work  of  this  house  without  getting  out  of  my 
easy-chair." 

One  of  the  most  peculiar  features  of  the  estab 
lishment  was  the  servant's  room.  This  was  at  the 
rear  end  of  the  floor,  and  as  there  was  not  much 
space  left  after  the  other  rooms  had  been  made,  it 
was  very  small  ;  so  small,  indeed,  that  it  would 
accommodate  only  a  very  short  bedstead.  This 
made  it  necessary  for  our  friends  to  consider  the 
size  of  the  servant  when  they  engaged  her. 

"  There  were  several  excellent  girls  at  the  intel 
ligence  office  where  I  called,"  said  the  ex-boarder, 
"  but  I  measured  them,  and  they  were  all  too  tall. 
So  we  had  to  take  a  short  one,  who  is  only  so  so. 
There  was  one  big  Scotch  girl  who  was  the  very 
person  for  us,  and  I  would  have  taken  her  if  my 
wife  had  not  objected  to  my  plan  for  her  accommo 
dation/' 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  first  thought  of  cutting  a 
hole  in  the  partition  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  for 
her  to  put  her  feet  through." 

"Never!"  said  his  wife,  emphatically.  "I 
would  never  have  allowed  that." 

"  And  then,"  continued  he,  "  I  thought  of  turn 
ing  the  bed  around,  and  cutting  a  larger  hole, 
through  which  she  might  have  put  her  head  into 


72  Rudder  Grange. 

the  little  room  on  this  side.  A  low  table  could 
have  stood  under  the  hole,  and  her  head  might 
have  rested  on  a  cushion  on  the  table  very  com 
fortably." 

"My  dear,"  said  his  wife,  "it  would  have 
frightened  me  to  death  to  go  into  that  room  and 
see  that  head  on  a  cushion  on  a  table " 

"  Like  John  the  Baptist,"  interrupted  Euphemia. 

"  Well,"  said  our  ex-boarder,  "the  plan  would 
have  had  its  advantages." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Euphemia,  looking  out  of  a  back 
window.  "  What  a  lovely  little  iron  balcony  ! 
Do  you  sit  out  there  on  warm  evenings  ?  " 

"That's  a  fire  escape,"  said  the  ex-boarder. 
"  We  don't  go  out  there  unless  it  is  very  hot  in 
deed,  on  account  of  the  house  being  on  fire.  You 
see  there  is  a  little  door  in  the  floor  of  the  balcony 
and  an  iron  ladder  leading  to  the  balcony  beneath, 
and  so  on,  down  to  the  first  story." 

"  And  you  have  to  creep  through  th.it  hole  and 
go  down  that  dreadful  steep  ladder  every  time 
there  is  a  fire  ?  "  said  Euphemia. 

"  Well,  I  guess  we  would  never  go  down  but 
once,"  he  answered. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Euphemia  ;  "  you'd  fall 
down  and  break  your  neck  the  first  time,"  and  she 
turned  away  from  the  window  with  a  very  grave 
expression  on  her  face. 

Soon  after  this  our  hostess  conducted  Euphemia 


Rudder  Grange.  73 

to  the  guest-chamber,  while  her  husband  and  I 
finished  a  bed-time  cigar. 

When  I  joined  Euphemia  in  her  room,  she  met 
me  with  a  mysterious  expression  on  her  face.  She 
shut  the  door,  and  then  said  in  a  very  earnest  tone  : 

"  Do  you  see  that  little  bedstead  in  the  corner  ? 
I  did  not  notice  it  until  I  came  in  just  now,  and 
then,  being  quite  astonished,  I  said,  'Why  here's 
a  child's  bed  ;  who  sleeps  here  ?  '  '  Oh,'  says  she, 
'  that's  our  little  Adele's  bedstead.  We  have  it  in 
our  room  when  she's  here.'  '  Little  Adele  !'  said 
I,  '  I  didn't  know  she  was  little — not  small  enough 
for  that  bed,  at  any  rate.'  '  Why,  yes,'  said  she, 
'  A<f  ~^le  is  only  four  years  old.  The  bedstead  is 
quil  large  enough  for  her.'  '  And  she  is  not  here 
now  ?  '  I  said,  utterly  amazed  at  all  this.  '  No/ 
she  answered,  '  she  is  not  here  now,  but  we  try  to 
have  her  with  us  as  much  as  we  can,  and  always 
keep  her  little  bed  ready  for  her.'  '  I  suppose 
she's  with  her  father's  people/  I  said,  and  she  an 
swered,  '  Oh  yes/  and  bade  me  good-night.  What 
does  all  this  mean  ?  Our  boarder  told  us  that  the 
daughter  is  grown  up,  and  here  his  wife  declares 
that  she  is  only  four  years  old  !  I  don't  know 
what  in  the  world  to  make  of  this  mystery  !  " 

I  could  give  Euphemia  no  clue.     I  supposed  there 

was  some  mistake,  and  that  was  all   I  could  say, 

except  that  I  was  sleepy,  and  that  we  could  find 

out  all  about  it  in  the  morning.     But  Euphemia 

4 


74  Rudder  Grange. 

could  not  dismiss  the  subject  from  her  mind.  She 
said  no  more, — but  I  could  see — until  I  fell  asleep 
— that  she  was  thinking  about  it. 

It  must  have  been  about  the  middle  of  the  night, 
perhaps  later,  when  I  was  suddenly  awakened  by 
Euphemia  starting  up  in  the  bed,  with  the  excla 
mation  : 

"I  have  it!" 

"  What  ?  "  I  cried,  sitting  up  in  a  great  hurry. 
11  What  is  it  ?  What  have  you  got  ?  What's  the 
matter  ?" 

"  I  know  it  !  "  she  said,  "  I  know  it.  Our 
boarder  is  a  grandfather !  Little  Adele  is  the 
grown-up  daughter's  child.  He  was  quite  particu 
lar  to  say  that  his  wife  married  very  young.  Just 
to  think  of  it!  So  short  a  time  ago,  he  was  living 
with  us — a  bachelor — and  now,  in  four  short 
months,  he  is  a  grandfather  !  " 

Carefully  propounded  inquiries,  in  the  morning, 
proved  Euphemia's  conclusions  to  be  correct. 

The  next  evening,  when  we  were  quietly  sitting 
in  our  own  room,  Euphemia  remarked  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  have  anything  to  do  with  French 
flats. 

"  They  seem  to  be  very  convenient,"  I  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  convenient  enough,  but  I  don't  like 
them.  I  would  hate  to  live  where  everything  let 
down  like  a  table-lid,  or  else  turned  with  a  crank. 
And  when  I  think  of  those  fire-escapes,  and  the 


Rudder  Grange.  75 

boarder's  grandchild,  it  makes  me  feel  very  un 
pleasantly." 

"  But  the  grandchild  don't  follow  as  a  matter  of 
course,"  said  I. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  shall  never  like 
French  flats." 

And  we  discussed  them  no  more. 

For  some  weeks  we  examined  into  every  style 
of  economic  and  respectable  housekeeping,  and 
many  methods  of  living  in  what  Euphemia  called 
"  imitation  comfort "  were  set  aside  as  unworthy 
of  consideration. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Euphemia,  one  evening,  "  what 
we  really  ought  to  do  is  to  build.  Then  we  would 
have  exactly  the  house  we  want." 

"  Very  true,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  to  build  a  house, 
a  man  must  have  money." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  she,  "or  at  least  not  much. 
For  one  thing,  you  might  join  a  building  associa 
tion.  In  some  of  those  societies  I  know  that  you 
only  have  to  pay  a  dollar  a  week." 

"But  do  you  suppose  the  association  builds 
houses  for  all  its  members  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  suppose  so.  Else  why  is  it  called 
a  building  association  ?  " 

I  had  read  a  good  deal  about  these  organizations, 
and  I  explained  to  Euphemia  that  a  dollar  a  week 
was  never  received  by  any  of  them  in  payment  fot 
a  new  house. 


76  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Then  build  yourself,"  she  said  ;  "  I  know  hov) 
that  can  be  done." 

"Oh,  it's  easy  enough,"  I  remarked,  "  if  you 
have  the  money." 

"  No,  you  needn't  have  any  money,"  said  Eu- 
phemia,  rather  hastily.  "Just  let  me  show  you. 
Supposing,  for  instance,  that  you  want  to  build  a 
house  worth — well,  say  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
in  some  pretty  town  near  the  city." 

"  I  would  rather  figure  on  a  cheaper  house  than 
that  for  a  country  place,"  I  interrupted. 

"Well  then,  say  two  thousand  dollars.  You 
get  masons,  and  carpenters,  and  people  to  dig  the 
cellar,  and  you  engage  them  to  build  your  house. 
You  needn't  pay  them  until  it's  done,  of  course, 
Then  when  it's  all  finished,  borrow  two  thousand 
dollars  and  give  the  house  as  security.  After  that 
you  see,  you  have  only  to  pay  the  interest  on  the 
borrowed  money.  When  you  save  enough  money 
to  pay  back  the  loan,  the  house  is  your  own.  Now, 
isn't  that  a  good  plan  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "if  there  could  be  found  people 
who  would  build  your  house  and  wait  for  their 
money  until  some  one  would  lend  you  its  full  value 
on  a  mortgage." 

"  Well,"  said  Euphemia,  "  I  guess  they  could 
be  found  if  you  would  only  look  for  them." 

"  I'll  look  for  them,  when  I  go  to  heaven,"  I 
Mid. 


Rudder  Grange.  77 

We  gave  up  for  the  present,  the  idea  of  building 
or  buying  a  house,  and  determined  to  rent  a  small 
place  in  the  country,  and  then,  as  Euphemia  wisely 
said,  if  we  liked  it,  we  might  buy  it.  After  she 
had  dropped  her  building  projects  she  thought  that 
one  ought  to  know  just  how  a  house  would  'suit 
before  having  it  on  one's  hands. 

We  could  afford  something  better  than  a  canal' 
boat  now,  and  therefore  we  were  not  so  restricted 
as  in  our  first  search  for  a  house.  But,  the  one 
thing  which  troubled  my  wife — and,  indeed,  caused 
me  much  anxious  thought,  was  that  scourge  of  al-  . 
most  all  rural  localities — tramps.  It  would  be  ' 
necessary  for  me  to  be  away  all  day, — and  we 
could  not  afford  to  keep  a  man, — so  we  must  be 
careful  to  get  a  house  somewhere  off  the  line  of 
ordinary  travel,  or  else  in  a  well-settled  neighbor 
hood,  where  there  woulcTBe1sO~me  one  near  at  hand 
in  case  of  unruly  visitors. 

"  A  village  I  don't  like,"  said  Euphemia  :  "  there 
is  always  so  much  gossip,  and  people  know  all 
about  what  you  have,  and  what  you  do.  And  yet 
it  would  be  very  lonely,  and  perhaps  dangerous, 
for  us  to  live  off  somewhere,  all  by  ourselves. 
And  there  is  another  objection  to  a  village.  We 
don't  want  a  house  with  a  small  yard  and  a  garden 
at  the  back.  We  ought  to  have  a  dear  little  farm, 
with  some  fields  for  corn,  and  a  cow,  and  a  barn 
and  things  of  that  sort.  All  that  would  be  lovely. 


78  Rudder  Grange. 

I'll  tell  you  what  we  want,"  she  cried,  seized 
with  a  sudden  inspiration;  "we  ought  to  try  to 
get  the  end-house  of  a  village.  Then  our  house 
could  be  near  the  neighbors,  and  our  farm  could 
stretch  out  a  little  way  into  the  country  beyond  us. 
Let  us  fix  our  minds  upon  such  a  house  and  I  be 
lieve  we  can  get  it." 

So  we  fixed  our  minds,  but  in  the  course  of  a 
week  or  two  we  unfixed  them  several  times  to  al 
low  the  consideration  of  places,  which  otherwise 
would  have  been  out  of  range  ;  and  during  one  of 
these  intervals  of  mental  disfixment  we  took  a 
house. 

It  was  not  the  end-house  of  a  village,  but  it  was 
in  the  outskirts  of  a  very  small  rural  settlement. 
Our  nearest  neighbor  was  within  vigorous  shouting 
distance,  and  the  house  suited  us  so  well  in  other 
respects,  that  we  concluded  that  this  would  do. 
The  house  was  small,  but  large  enough.  There 
were  some  trees  around  it,  and  a  little  lawn  in 
front.  There  was  a  garden,  a  small  barn  and 
stable,  a  pasture  field,  and  land  enough  besides  for 
small  patches  of  corn  and  potatoes.  The  rent  was 
low,  the  water  good,  and  no  one  can  imagine  how 
delighted  we  were. 

We  did  not  furnish  the  whole  house  at  first,  but 
what  mattered  it  ?  We  had  no  horse  or  cow,  but 
the  pasture  and  barn  were  ready  for  them.  We  did 
not  propose  to  begin  with  everything  at  once. 


Rudder  Grange.  79 

Our  first  evening  in  that  house  was  made  up 
of  hours  of  unalloyed  bliss.  We  walked  from 
room  to  room  ;  we  looked  out  on  the  garden 
and  the  lawn  ;  we  sat  on  the  little  porch  while  I 
smoked. 

"  We  were  happy  at  Rudder  Grange,"  said  Eu- 
phemia  ;  "  but  that  was  only  a  canal-boat,  and 
could  not,  in  the  nature  of  things,  have  been  a 
permament  home." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "it  could  not  have  been  perma 
nent.  But,  in  many  respects,  it  was  a  delightful 
home.  The  very  name  of  it  brings  pleasant 
thoughts." 

"  It  was  a  nice  name,"  said  Euphemia,  "  and  I'll 
tell  you  what  we  might  do  :  Let  us  call  this  place 
Rudder  Grange — the  New  Rudder  Grange  !  The 
name  will  do  just  as  well  for  a  house  as  for  a  boat." 

I  agreed  on  the  spot,  and  the  house  was  chris 
tened. 

Our  household  was  small  ;  we  had  a  servant — a 
German  woman  ;  and  we  had  ourselves,  that  was 
all. 

I  did  not  do  much  in  the  garden  ;  it  was  too  late 
in  the  season.  The  former  occupant  had  planted 
some  corn  and  potatoes,  with  a  few  other  vegeta 
bles,  and  these  I  weeded  and  hoed,  working  early 
in  the  morning  and  when  I  came  home  in  the  after 
noon.  Euphemia  tied  up  the  rose-vines,  trimmed 
the  bushes,  and  with  a  little  rake  and  hoe  she  pre- 


8o  Rudder  Grange. 

pared  a  flower-bed  in  front  of  the  parlor-window. 
This  exercise  gave  us  splendid  appetites,  and  we 
loved  our  new  home  more  and  more. 

Our  German  girl  did  not  suit  us  exactly  at  first, 
and  day  by  day  she  grew  to  suit  us  less.  She  was 
a  quiet,  kindly,  pleasant  creature,  and  delighted  in 
an  out-of-door  life.  She  was  as  willing  to  weed 
in  the  garden  as  she  was  to  cook  or  wash.  At  first 
I  was  very  much  pleased  with  this,  because,  as  I 
remarked  to  Euphemia,  you  can  find  very  few 
girls  who  would  be  willing  to  work  in  the  garden, 
and  she  might  be  made  very  useful. 

But,  after  a  time,  Euphemia  began  to  get  a  little 
out  of  patience  with  her.  She  worked  out-of-doors 
entirely  too  much.  And  what  she  did  there,  as 
well  as  some  of  her  work  in  the  house,  was  very 
much  like  certain  German  literature — you  did  not 
know  how  it  was  done,  or  what  it  was  for. 

One  afternoon  I  found  Euphemia  quite  annoyed. 

"  Look  here,"  she  said,  "  and  see  what  that  girl 
has  been  at  work  at,  nearly  all  this  afternoon.      I 
was  upstairs  sewing  and  thought  she  was  ironing. 
',  it  too  provoking  ?  " 

It  was  provoking.  The  contemplative  German 
had  collected  a  lot  of  short  ham-bones — where  she 
found  them  I  cannot  imagine — and  had  made  of 
them  a  border  around  my  wife's  flower-bed.  The 
bones  stuck  up  straight  a  few  inches  above  the 
ground,  all  along  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  the  mar- 


Rudder  Grange.  81 

row  cavity  of  each  one  was  filled  with  earth  in 
which  she  had  planted  seeds. 

"  'These,'  she  says,  'will  spring  up  and  look 
beautiful,'  "  said  Euphemia  ;  "  they  have  that  style 
of  thing  in  her  country." 

"Then  let  her  take  them  off  with  her  to  her 
country,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Euphemia,  hurriedly,  "  don't 
kick  them  out.  It  would  only  wound  her  feelings. 
She  did  it  all  for  the  best,  and  thought  it  would 
please  me  to  have  such  a  border  around  my  bed. 
But  she  is  too  independent,  and  neglects  her 
proper  work.  I  will  give  her  a  week's  notice  and 
get  another  servant.  When  she  goes  we  can  take 
these  horrid  bones  away.  But  I  hope  nobody  will 
call  on  us  in  the  meantime." 

"  Must  we  keep  these  things  here  a  whole 
week  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  turn  her  away  without  giving  her 
a  fair  notice.  That  would  be  cruel." 

I  saw  the  truth  of  the  remark,  and  determined  to 
bear  with  the  bones  and  her  rather  than  be  unkind. 

That  night  Euphemia  informed  the  girl  of  her 
decision,  and  the  next  morning,  soon  after  I  had 
left,  the  good  German  appeared  with  her  bonnet 
on  and  her  carpet-bag  in  her  hand,  to  take  leave 
of  her  mistress. 

"What!"  cried  Euphemia.  "You  are  not 
going  to-day  ?  " 


82  Rudder  Gra 

"  If  it  is  goot  to  go  at  all  it  is  goot  to  go  now," 
said  the  girl. 

"  And  you  will  go  off  and  leave  me  without  any 
one  in  the  house,  after  my  putting  myself  out  to 
give  you  a  fair  notice  ?  It's  shameful  !  " 

"I  think  it  is  very  goot  for  me  to  go  now," 
quietly  replied  the  girl.  "This  house  is  verylone- 
ful.  I  will  go  to-morrow  in  the  city  to  see  your 
husband  for  my  money.  Goot  morning."  And 
off  she  trudged  to  the  station. 

Before  I  reached  the  house  that  afternoon,  Eu. 
phemia  rushed  out  to  tell  this  story.  I  would  not 
like  to  say  how  far  I  kicked  those  ham-bones. 

This  German  girl  had  several  successors,  and 
some  of  them  suited  as  badly  and  left  as  abruptly 
as  herself;  but  Euphemia  never  forgot  the  un 
grateful  stab  given  her  by  this  "  ham-bone  girl," 
as  she  always  called  her.  It  was  her  first  wound 
of  the  kind,  and  it  came  in  the  very  beginning  of 
the  campaign  when  she  was  all  unused  to  this 
domestic  warfare. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TREATING    OF    AN    UNSUCCESSFUL   BROKER   AND 
A  DOG. 

IT  was  a  couple  of  weeks,  or  thereabouts,  after 
this  episode  that  Euphemia  came  down  to  the  gate 
to  meet  me  on  my  return  from  the  city.  I  noticed 
a  very  peculiar  expression  on  her  face.  She  looked 
both  thoughtful  and  pleased.  Almost  the  first 
words  she  said  to  me  were  these  : 

"  A  tramp  came  here  to-day." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  I  exclaimed.  "  That's 
the  worst  news  I  have  had  yet.  I  did  hope  that 
we  were  far  enough  from  the  line  of  travel  to 
escape  these  scourges.  How  did  you  get  rid  of 
him  ?  Was  he  impertinent  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  feel  that  way  about  all  tramps," 
said  she.  "  Sometimes  they  are  deserving  of  our 
charity,  and  ought  to  be  helped.  There  is  a  great 
difference  in  them." 

"  That  may  be,"  I  said  ;  "  but  what  of  this  one  ? 
When  was  he  here,  and  when  did  he  go  ?  " 

"  He  did  not  go  at  all.     He  is  here  now." 


S'4  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Here  now  !  "  I  cried.     "  Where  is  he  ?  " 
"  Do  not  call  out  so  loud,"  said  Euphemia,  put 
ting  her  hand  on  my  arm.     "  You  will  waken  him. 
He  is  asleep. " 

"  Asleep  !  "  said  I.  "  A  tramp  ?  Here  ?  " 
"Yes.  Stop,  let  me  tell  you  about  him.  He 
told  me  his  story,  and  it  is  a  sad  one.  He  is  a 
middle-aged  man — fifty  perhaps — and  has  been 
rich.  He  was  once  a  broker  in  Wall  street,  but  lost 
money  by  the  failure  of  various  railroads — the 
Camden  and  Amboy,  for  one." 

"  That  hasn't  failed,"  I  interrupted. 
"  Well  then  it  was  the  Northern  Pacific,  or  some 
other  one  of  them — at  any  rate  I  know  it  was  either 
a  railroad  or  a  bank, — and  he  soon  became  very 
poor.  He  has  a  son  in  Cincinnati,  who  is  a  suc 
cessful  merchant,  and  lives  in  a  fine  house,  with 
horses  and  carriages,  and  all  that ;  and  this  poor 
man  has  written  to  his  son,  but  has  never  had  any 
answer.  So  now  he  is  going  to  walk  to  Cincinnati 
to  see  him.  He  knows  he  will  not  be  turned  away 
if  he  can  once  meet  his  son,  face  to  face.  He  was 
very  tired  when  he  stopped  here, — and  he  has  ever 
and  ever  so  far  to  walk  yet,  you  know, — and  so 
after  I  had  given  him  something  to  eat,  I  let  him 
lie  down  in  the  outer  kitchen,  on  that  roll  of  rag- 
carpet  that  is  there.  I  spread  it  out  for  him.  It  is 
a  hard  bed  for  one  who  has  known  comfort,  but  he 
>  sleep  soundly." 


Rudder  Grange.  85 

"  Let  me  see  him,"  said  I,  and  I  walked  back  to 
the  outer  kitchen. 

There  lay  the  unsuccessful  broker  fast  asleep. 
His  face,  which  was  turned  toward  me  as  I  en 
tered,  showed  that  it  had  been  many  days  since  he 
had  been  shaved,  and  his  hair  had  apparently 
been  uncombed  for  about  the  same  length  of  time. 
His  clothes  were  very  old,  and  a  good  deal  torn, 
and  he  wore  one  boot  and  one  shoe. 

"Whew!"  said  I.  "Have  you  been  giving 
him  whisky  ?  " 

"  No,"  whispered  Euphemia,  "  of  course  not 
I  noticed  that  smell,  and  he  said  he  had  been 
cleaning  his  clothes  with  alcohol." 

"They  needed  it,  I'm  sure,"  I  remarked  as  I 
turned  away.  "  And  now,"  said  I,  "  where's  the 
girl  ?  " 

"This  is  her  afternoon  out.  What  is  the  mat 
ter?  You  look  frightened." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  frightened,  but  I  find  I  must  go 
down  to  the  station  again.  Just  run  up  and  put 
on  your  bonnet.  It  will  be  a  nice  little  walk  for 
you." 

I  had  been  rapidly  revolving  the  matter  in  my 
mind.  What  was  I  to  do  with  this  wretch  who 
was  now  asleep  in  my  outer  kitchen  ?  If  I  woke 
him  up  and  drove  him  off, — and  I  might  have  dif 
ficulty  in  doing  it, — there  was  every  reason  to  be> 
lieve  that  he  would  not  go  far,  but  return  at  night 


86  Rudder   Grange. 

and  commit  some  revengeful  act.  I  never  saw  a 
more  sinister-looking  fellow.  And  he  was  certain 
ly  drunk.  He  must  not  be  allowed  to  wander 
about  our  neighborhood.  I  would  go  for  the  con 
stable  and  have  him  arrested. 

So  I  locked  the  door  from  the  kitchen  into  the 
house  and  then  the  outside  door  of  the  kitchen, 
and  when  my  wife  came  down  we  hurried  off.  On 
the  way  I  told  her  what  I  intended  to  do,  and 
what  I  thought  of  our  guest.  She  answered 
scarcely  a  word,  and  I  hoped  that  she  was  fright 
ened.  I  think  she  was. 

The  constable,  who  was  also  coroner  of  our 
township,  had  gone  to  a  creek,  three  miles  away, 
to  hold  an  inquest,  and  there  was  nobody  to  arrest 
the  man.  The  nearest  police-station  was  at  Hack- 
ingford,  six  miles  away,  on  the  railroad.  I  held  a 
consultation  with  the  station-master,  and  the  gen 
tleman  who  kept  the  grocery-store  opposite. 

They  could  think  of  nothing  to  be  done  except 
to  shoot  the  man,  and  to  that  I  objected. 

"  However,"  said  I,  "  he  can't  stay  there  ;  " 
and  a  happy  thought  just  then  striking  me,  I  called 
to  the  boy  who  drove  the  village  express-wagon, 
and  engaged  him  for  a  job.  The  wagon  was 
standing  at  the  station,  and  to  save  time,  I  got  in 
and  rode  to  my  house.  Euphemia  went  over  to 
call  on  the  groceryman's  wife  until  I  returned. 

I  had  determined  that  the  man  should  be  taken 


Rudder  Grange.  87 

away,  although,  until  I  was  riding  home,  I  had  not 
made  up  my  mind  where  to  have  him  taken.  But 
on  the  road  I  settled  this  matter. 

On  reaching  the  house,  we  drove  into  the  yard 
as  close  to  the  kitchen  as  we  could  go.  Then  I 
unlocked  the  door,  and  the  boy — who  was  a  big, 
strapping  fellow — entered  with  me.  We  found  the 
ex-broker  still  wrapped  in  the  soundest  slumber. 
Leaving  the  boy  to  watch  him,  I  went  upstairs  and 
got  a  baggage-tag  which  I  directed  to  the  chief  of 
police  at  the  police  station  in  Hackingford.  I  re 
turned  to  the  kitchen  and  fastened  this  tag,  con 
spicuously,  on  the  lappel  of  the  sleeper's  coat. 
Then,  with  a  clothes-line,  I  tied  him  up  carefully, 
hand  and  foot.  To  all  this  he  offered  not  the 
slightest  opposition.  When  he  was  suitably 
packed,  with  due  regard  to  the  probable  tender 
ness  of  wrist  and  ankle  in  one  brought  up  in 
luxury,  the  boy  and  I  carried  him  to  the  wagon. 

He  was  a  heavy  load,  and  we  may  have  bumped 
him  a  little,  but  his  sleep  was  not  disturbed.  Then 
we  drove  him  to  the  express  office.  This  was  at 
the  railroad  station,  and  the  station-master  was 
also  express  agent.  At  first  he  was  not  inclined 
to  receive  my  parcel,  but  when  I  assured  him  that 
all  sorts  of  live  things  were  sent  by  express,  and 
that  I  could  see  no  reason  for  making  an  exception 
in  this  case,  he  added  my  arguments  to  his  own 
disposition,  as  a  house-holder,  to  see  the  goods 


88  Rudder  Grange. 

forwarded  to  their  destination,  and  so  gave  me  a 
receipt,  and  pasted  a  label  on  the  ex-broker's 
shoulder.  I  set  no  value  on  the  package,  which  I 
prepaid. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  station-master,  "  he'll  go 
all  right,  if  the  express  agent  on  the  train  will  take 
him." 

This  matter  was  soon  settled,  for,  in  a  few  min 
utes,  the  train  stopped  at  the  station.  My  pack 
age  was  wheeled  to  the  express  car,  and  two  por 
ters,  who  entered  heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the 
thing,  hoisted  it  into  the  car.  The  train-agent, 
who  just  then  noticed  the  character  of  the  goods, 
began  to  declare  that  he  would  not  have  the  fellow 
in  his  car ;  but  my  friend  the  station-master 
shouted  out  that  everything  was  all  right, — the 
man  was  properly  packed,  invoiced  and  paid  for, 
and  the  train,  which  was  behind  time,  moved  away 
before  the  irate  agent  could  take  measures  to  get 
rid  of  his  unwelcome  freight. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  there'll  be  a  drunken  man  at 
the  police-station  in  Hackingford  in  about  half-an- 
hour.  His  offense  will  be  as  evident  there  as  here, 
and  they  can  do  what  they  please  with  him.  I 
shall  telegraph,  to  explain  the  matter  and  prepare 
tlit-in  for  his  arrival." 

When  I  had  done  this  Euphemia  and  I  went 
home.  The  tramp  had  cost  me  some  money,  but 
I  was  well  satisfied  with  my  evening's  work,  and 


Rudder  Grange.  89 

felt  that  the  township  owed  me,  at  least,  a  vote  of 
thanks. 

But  I  firmly  made  up  my  mind  that  Euphemia 
should  never  again  be  left  unprotected.  I  would 
not  even  trust  to  a  servant  who  would  agree  to 
have  no  afternoons  out.  I  would  get  a  dog. 

The  next  day  I  advertised  for  a  fierce  watch 
dog,  and  in  the  course  of  a  week  I  got  one.  Be 
fore  I  procured  him  I  examined  into  the  merits, 
and  price,  of  about  one  hundred  dogs.  My  dog 
was  named  Pete,  but  I  determined  to  make  a 
change  in  that  respect.  He  was  a  very  tall,  bony, 
powerful  beast,  of  a  dull  black  color,  and  with  a 
lower  jaw  that  would  crack  the  hind-leg  of  an  ox, 
so  I  was  informed.  He  was  of  a  varied  breed,  and 
the  good  Irishman  of  whom  I  bought  him  said  he 
had  fine  blood  in  him,  and  attempted  to  refer  him 
back  to  the  different  classes  of  dogs  from  which  he 
had  been  derived.  But  after  I  had  had  him  awhile, 
I  made  an  analysis  based  on  his  appearance  and 
character,  and  concluded  that  he  was  mainly 
blood-hound,  shaded  with  wolf-dog  and  mastiff, 
and  picked  out  with  touches  of  bull-dog. 

The  man  brought  him  home  for  me,  and  chained 
him  up  in  an  unused  wood-shed,  for  I  had  no  dog 
house  as  yet. 

"  Now  thin,"  said  he,  "  all  you've  got  to  do  is 
to  keep  'im  chained  up  there  for  three  or  four 
days  till  he  gets  used  to  ye.  An'  I'll  tell  ye  the 


go  Rudder  Grange. 

best  way  to  make  a  dog  like  ye.  Jist  give  him  a 
good  lickin'.  Then  he'll  know  yer  his  master,  «ind 
he'll  like  ye  iver  aftherward.  There's  plenty  of 
people  that  don't  know  that.  And,  by  the  way, 
sir,  that  chain's  none  too  strong  for  'im.  I  got  it 
when  he  wasn't  mor'n  half  grown.  Ye'd  bether 
git  him  a  new  one." 

When  the  man  had  gone,  I  stood  and  looked  at 
the  dog,  and  could  not  help  hoping  that  he  would 
learn  to  like  me  without  the  intervention  of  a 
thrashing.  Such  harsh  methods  were  not  always 
necessary,  I  felt  sure. 

After  our  evening  meal — a  combination  of  din 
ner  and  supper,  of  which  Euphemia  used  to  say 
that  she  did  not  know  whether  to  call  it  dinper  or 
supner — we  went  out  together  to  look  at  our  new 
guardian. 

Euphemia  was  charmed  with  him. 

41  How  massive!"  she  exclaimed.  "What 
splendid  limbs  !  And  look  at  that  immense  head  ! 
I  know  I  shall  never  be  afraid  now.  I  feel  that 
that  is  a  dog  I  can  rely  upon.  Make  him  stand  up, 
please,  so  I  can  sec  how  tall  he  is." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  not  to  disturb  him," 
I  answered,  "  he  may  be  tired.  He  will  get  up  of 
his  own  accord  very  soon.  And  indeed  I  hope 
that  he  will  not  get  up  until  I  go  to  the  store  and 
get  him  a  new  chain." 

As  I  said  this  I   made  a  step  forward  to  look  at 


Rudder  Grange.  91 

his  chain,  and  at  that  instant  a  low  growl,  like  tho 
first  rumblings  of  an  earthquake,  ran  through  the 
dog. 

I  stepped  back  again  and  walked  over  to  the 
village  for  the  chain.  The  dog-chains  shown  me 
at  the  store  all  seemed  too  short  and  too  weak, 
and  I  concluded  to  buy  two  chains  such  as  used 
for  hitching  horses  and  to  join  them  so  as  to  make 
a  long  as  well  as  a  strong  one  of  them.  I  wanted 
him  to  be  able  to  come  out  of  the  wood-shed  when 
it  should  be  necessary  to  show  himself. 

On  my  way  home  with  my  purchase  the  thought 
euddenly  struck  me,  How  will  you  put  that  chain 
on  your  dog  ?  The  memory  of  the  rumbling  growl 
was  still  vivid. 

I  never  put  the  chain  on  him.  As  I  approached 
him  with  it  in  my  hand,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  his 
eyes  sparkled,  his  black  lips  drew  back  from  his 
mighty  teeth,  he  gave  one  savage  bark  and  sprang 
at  me. 

His  chain  held  and  I  went  into  the  house.  That 
night  he  broke  loose  and  went  home  to  his  master, 
who  lived  fully  ten  miles  away. 

When  I  found  in  the  morning  that  he  was  gone 
I  was  in  doubt  whether  it  would  be  better  to  go 
and  look  for  him  or  not.  But  I  concluded  to  keep 
up  a  brave  heart,  and  found  him,  as  I  expected,  at 
the  place  where  I  had  bought  him.  The  Irishman 
took  him  to  my  house  again  and  I  had  to  pay  for 


92  Rudder  Cra 

the  man's  loss  of  time  as  well  as  for  his  fare  on  the 
railroad.  But  the  dog's  old  master  chained  him 
up  with  the  new  chain  and  I  felt  repaid  for  my  out- 
lay. 

\  Every  morning  and  night  I  fed  that  dog,  and  I 
spoke  as  kindly  and  gently  to  him  as  I  knew  how. 
But  he  seemed  to  cherish  a  distaste  for  me,  and 
always  greeted  me  with  a  growl.  He  was  an  awful 
dog. 

About  a  week  after  the  arrival  of  this  animal,  I 
was  astonished  and  frightened  on  nearing  the  house 
to  hear  a  scream  from  my  wife.  I  rushed  into  the 
yard  and  was  greeted  with  a  succession  of  screams 
from  two  voices,  that  seemed  to  come  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  wood-shed.  Hurrying  thither,  I 
perceived  Euphemia  standing  on  the  roof  of  the 
shed  in  perilous  proximity  to  the  edge,  while  near 
the  ridge  of  the  roof  sat  our  hired  girl  with  her 
handkerchief  over  her  head. 

"  Hurry,  hurry  !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  Climb  up 
here  !  The  dog  is  loose  !  Be  quick  !  Be  quick  ! 
Oh  !  he's  coming,  he's  coming  !  " 

I  asked  for  no  explanation.  There  was  a  rail- 
fence  by  the  side  of  the  shed  and  I  sprang  on  this, 
and  was  on  the  roof  just  as  the  dog  came  bounding 
and  barking  from  the  barn. 

Instantly  Euphemia  had  me  in  her  arms,  and  we 
came  very  near  going  off  the  roof  together. 

"  I  never  feared  to  have  you  come  home  before," 


Rudder  Grange.  93 

she  sobbed.     "  I  thought  he  would  tear  you  limb 
from  limb." 

"  But  how  did  all  this  happen  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Och  !  I  kin  hardly  remember,"  said  the  girl 
from  under  her  handkerchief. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  ask  you,"  I  said,  somewhat  too 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Euphemia.  "  There 
was  a  man  at  the  gate  and  he  looked  suspicious 
and  didn't  try  to  come  in,  and  Mary  was  at  the 
barn  looking  for  an  egg,  and  I  thought  this  was  a 
good  time  to  see  whether  the  dog  was  a  good 
watch-dog  or  not,  so  I  went  and  unchained  him 

"  Did  you  unchain  that  dog  ?  "  I  cried. 

"Yes,  and  the  minute  he  was  loose  he  made  a 
rush  at  the  gate,  but  the  man  was  gone  before  he 
got  there,  and  as  he  ran  down  the  road  I  saw  that 
he  was  Mr.  Henderson's  man,  who  was  coming 
here  on  an  errand,  I  expect,  and  then  I  went  down 
to  the  barn  to  get  Mary  to  come  and  help  me 
chain  up  the  dog,  and  when  she  came  out  he  began 
to  chase  me  and  then  her  ;  and  we  were  so  fright 
ened  that  we  climbed  up  here,  and  I  don't  know, 
I'm  sure,  how  I  ever  got  up  that  fence  ;  and  dc 
you  think  he  can  climb  up  here  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  my  dear,"  I  said. 

"An' he's  just  the  beast  to  go  afther  a  stip-lad 
der,"  said  the  girl,  in  muffled  tones. 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do  ?  "  asked  Euphemia. 


94     ,  Rudder  Grange. 

"  We  can't  cat  and  sleep  up  here.  Don't  you 
think  that  if  we  were  all  to  shout  out  together,  we 
could  make  some  neighbor  hear  ?  " 

"Oh  yes!"  I  said,  "there  is  no  doubt  of  it. 
Hut  then,  if  a  neighbor  came,  the  dog  would  fall 
on  him " 

"  And  tear  him  limb  from  limb,"  interrupted 
Euphemia. 

"  Yes,  and  besides,  my  dear,  I  should  hate  to 
have  any  of  the  neighbors  come  and  find  us  all  up 
here.  It  would  look  so  utterly  absurd.  Let  me 
try  and  think  of  some  other  plan." 

"Well,  please  be  as  quick  as  you  can.  It's 
dreadful  to  be who's  that  ?  " 

I  looked  up  and  saw  a  female  figure  just  entering 
the  yard. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  exclaimed  Euphemia. 
"  The  dog  will  get  her.  Call  to  her  ! " 

"  No,  no,"  said  I,  "  don't  make  a  noise.  It 
will  only  bring  the  dog.  He  seems  to  have  gone 
to  the  barn,  or  somewhere.  Keep  perfectly  quiet, 
and  she  may  go  up  on  the  porch,  and  as  the  front 
door  is  not  locked,  she  may  rush  into  the  house,  if 
she  sees  him  coming." 

"  I  do  hope  she  will  do  that,"  said  Euphemia, 
anxiously. 

"  And  yet,"  said  I,  "  it's  not  pleasant  to  have 
strangers  going  into  the  house  when  there's  no  one 
there." 


Rudder  Grange.  95 

"  But  it's  better  than  seeing  a  stranger  torn  to 
pieces  before  your  eyes,"  said  Euphemia. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "it  is.  Don't  you  think  we 
might  get  down  now  ?  The  dog  isn't  here." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Euphemia.  "There  he  is 
now,  coming  this  way.  And  look  at  that  woman  ! 
She  is  coming  right  to  this  shed." 

Sure  enough,  our  visitor  had  passed  by  the  front 
door,  and  was  walking  toward  us.  Evidently  she 
had  heard  our  voices." 

"  Don't  come  here  !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  You'll 
be  killed  !  Run  !  run  !  The  dog  is  coming ! 
Why,  mercy  on  us  !  It's  Pomona  I  " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

POMONA  ONCE  MORE. 

SURE  enough,  it  was  Pomona.  There  stood  our 
old  servant-girl,  of  the  canal-boat,  with  a  crooked 
straw  bonnet  on  her  head,  a  faded  yellow  parasol 
in  her  hand,  a  parcel  done  up  in  newspaper  under 
her  arm,  and  an  expression  of  astonishment  on  her 
face. 

"  Well,  truly  !  "  she  ejaculated. 

"Into  the  house,  quick!"  I  said.  "We  have 
a  savage  dog  !  " 

"  And  here  he  is  !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "Oh!  she 
will  be  torn  to  atoms." 

Straight  at  Pomona  came  the  great  black  beast, 
barking  furiously.  But  the  girl  did  not  move ; 
she  did  not  even  turn  her  head  to  look  at  the  dog, 
who  stopped  before  he  reached  her  and  began  to 
ru^h  wildly  around  her,  barking  terribly. 

We  held  our  breath.  I  tried  to  say  "get  out !  " 
or  "  lie  down  !  "  but  my  tongue  could  not  form  the 
words. 

"  Can't  you  get  up  here  ?  "  gasped  Euphemia 


Rudder  Grange.  97 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  the  girl. 

The  dog  now  stopped  barking,  and  stood  look 
ing  at  Pomona,  occasionally  glancing  up  at  us. 
Pomona  took  not  the  slightest  notice  of  him. 

"  Do  you  know,  ma'am,"  said  she  to  Euphemia, 
"  that  if  I  had  come  here  yesterday,  that  dog  would 
have  had  my  life's  blood." 

"  And  why  don't  he  have  it  to-day  ?  "  said  Eu 
phemia,  who,  with  myself,  was  utterly  amazed  at 
the  behavior  of  the  dog. 

"Because  I  know  more  to-day  than  I  did  yes 
terday,"  answered  Pomona.  "It  is  only  this 
afternoon  that  I  read  something,  as  I  was  coming 
here  on  the  cars.  This  is  it,"  she  continued,  un 
wrapping  her  paper  parcel,  and  taking  from  it  one 
of  the  two  books  it  contained.  "  I  finished  this 
part  just  as  the  cars  stopped,  and  I  put  my  scissors 
in  the  place  ;  I'll  read  it  to  you." 

Standing  there  with  one  book  still  under  her 
arm,  the  newspaper  half  unwrapped  from  it,  hang 
ing  down  and  flapping  in  the  breeze,  she  opened 
the  other  volume  at  the  scissors-place,  turned 
back  a  page  or  two,  and  began  to  read  as  fol 
lows  : 

"  Lord  Edward  slowly  san-ter-ed  up  the  bro-ad  anc-es-tral  walk, 
when  sudden-ly  from  out  a  cop-se,  there  sprang  a  fur-i-ous  hound. 
The  marsh-man,  con-ce-al-ed  in  a  tree  expected  to  see  the  life's 
blood  of  the  young  r.ob-le-man  stain  the  path.  But  no,  Lord  Ed 
ward  did  not  stop  nor  turn  his  head.  With  a  smile,  he  strode  stead- 
5 


98  AW</Vr 

i-ly  on.  Well  he  knew  that  if  by  bc-traying  no  cm-otion,  ho  could 
show  the  dog  that  he  was  walking  where  he  had  a  right,  the  bru-te 
would  re-cog-nize  that  right  and  let  him  pass  un-sca-thed.  Thus  in 
this  moment  of  peril  his  nob-le  courage  saved  him.  The  hound, 
abashed,  returned  to  his  cov-ert,  and  Ix>rd  Edward  pass-ed  on. 
"  Foi-led  again,"  mutter -ed  the  marsh-man. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Pomona,  closing  the  book, 
"you  see  I  remembered  that,  the  minute  I  saw 
the  dog  coming,  and  I  didn't  betray  any  emo 
tion.  Yesterday,  now,  when  I  didn't  know  it, 
I'd  'a  been  sure  to  betray  emotion,  and  he  would 
have  had  my  life's  blood.  Did  he  drive  you  up 
there  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  Euphcmia ;  and  she  hastily  ex- 
plained  the  situation. 

"Then  I  guess  I'd  better  chain  him  up,"  re 
marked  Pomona ;  and  advancing  to  the  dog  she 
took  him  boldly  by  the  collar  and  pulled  him 
toward  the  shed.  The  animal  hung  back  at  first, 
but  soon  followed  her,  and  she  chained  him  up 
securely. 

"  Now  you  can  come  down,"  said  Pomona. 

I  assisted  Euphemia  to  the  ground,  and  Pomona 
persuaded  the  hired  girl  to  descend. 

"  Will  he  grab  me  by  the  leg  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"No;  get  down,  gump,"  said  Pomona,  and 
down  she  scrambled. 

We  took  Pomona  into  the  house  with  us  and 
asked  her  news  of  herself. 


Rudder  Grange.  99 

"Well,"  said  she,  "  there  ain't  much  to  tell.  I 
staid  awhile  at  the  institution,  but  I  didn't  get 
much  good  there,  only  I  learned  to  read  to  myself, 
because  if  I  read  out  loud  they  came  and  took  the 
book  away.  Then  I  left  there  and  went  to  live 
out,  but  the  woman  was  awful  mean.  She 
throwed  away  one  of  my  books  and  I  was  only 
half  through  it.  It  was  a  real  good  book,  named 
'The  Bridal  Corpse,  or  Montregor's  Curse,'  and 
I  had  to  pay  for  it  at  the  circulatin'  library. 
So  I  left  her  quick  enough,  and  then  I  went  on 
the  stage." 

"  On  the  stage  !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  What  did 
you  do  on  the  stage  ?  " 

"Scrub,"  replied  Pomona.  "You  see  that  I 
thought  if  I  could  get  anything  to  do  at  the  theay- 
ter,  I  could  work  my  way  up,  so  I  was  glad  to  get 
scrubbin'.  I  asked  the  prompter,  one  morning,  if 
he  thought  there  was  a  chance  for  me  to  work  up, 
and  he  said  yes,  I  might  scrub  the  galleries,  and  then 
I  told  him  that  I  didn't  want  none  of  his  lip,  and  I 
pretty  soon  left  that  place.  I  heard  you  was  a- 
keepin'  house  out  here,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  come 
along  and  see  you,  and  if  you  hadn't  no  girl  I'd  like 
to  live  with  you  again,  and  I  guess  you  might  as 
well  take  me,  for  that  other  girl  said,  when  she 
got  down  from  the  shed,  that  she  was  goin'  away 
to-morrow ;  she  wouldn't  stay  in  no  house  where 
they  kept  such  a  dog,  though  I  told  her  I  guessed 


ioo  Rudder  Grange. 

he  was  only  cuttin'  'round  because  he  was  so  glad 
to  get  loose." 

"  Cutting  around  !  "  exclaimed  Euphemia.  "  It 
was  nothing  of  the  kind.  If  you  had  seen  him 
you  would  have  known  better.  But  did  you  come 
now  to  stay  ?  Where  are  your  things  ?  " 

"  On  me,"  replied  Pomona. 

When  Euphemia  found  that  the  Irish  girl  really 
intended  to  leave,  we  consulted  together  and  con 
cluded  to  engage  Pomona,  and  I  went  so  far  as  to 
agree  to  carry  her  books  to  and  from  the  circulat 
ing  library  to  which  she  subscribed,  hoping  thereby 
to  be  able  to  exercise  some  influence  on  her  taste. 
And  thus  part  of  the  old  family  of  Rudder  Grange 
had  come  together  again.  True,  the  boarder  was 
away,  but,  as  Pomona  remarked,  when  she  heard 
about  him,  "You  couldn't  always  expect  to 
ever  regain  the  ties  that  had  always  bound  every 
body." 

Our  delight  and  interest  in  our  little  farm  in 
creased  day  by  day.  In  a  week  or  two  after  Po 
mona's  arrival  I  bought  a  cow.  Euphemia  was 
very  anxious  to  have  an  Alderney, — they  were 
such  gentle,  beautiful  creatures, — but  I  could  not 
afford  such  a  luxury.  I  might  possibly  compass 
an  Alderney  calf,  but  we  would  have  to  wait  a 
couple  of  years  for  our  milk,  and  Euphemia  said  it 
would  be  better  to  have  a  common  cow  than  to  do 
that. 


Rudder  Grange.  101 

Great  was  our  inward  satisfaction  when  the  cow, 
our  own  cow,  walked  slowly  and  solemnly  into  our 
yard  and  began  to  crop  the  clover  on  our  little 
lawn.  ^Pomona  and  I  gently  drove  her  to  the  barn, 
^uphemia  endeavored  to  quiet  the  violent 
Itrations  of  the  dog  (fortunately  chained) 
[ring  him  that  this  was  our  cow  and  that 
to  live  here,  and  that  he  was  to  take  care 
md  never  bark  at  her.  All  this  and  much 
delivered  in  the  earnest  and  confidential 
tone  in  which  ladies  talk  to  infants  and  dumb  ani 
mals,  made  the  dog  think  that  he  was  to  be  let 
loose  to  kill  the  cow,  and  he  bounded  and  leaped 
with  delight,  tugging  at  his  chain  so  violently  that 
Euphemia  became  a  little  frightened  and  left  him. 
This  dog  had  been  named  Lord  Edward,  at  the 
earnest  solicitation  of  Pomona,  and  he  was  becom 
ing  somewhat  reconciled  to  his  life  with  us.  He 
allowed  me  to  unchain  him  at  night  and  I  could 
generally  chain  him  up  in  the  morning  without 
trouble  if  I  had  a  good  big  plate  .of  food  with  which 
to  tempt  him  into  the  shed. 

Before  supper  we  all  went  down  to  the  barn  to 
see  the  milking.  Pomona,  who  knew  all  about 
such  things,  having  been  on  a  farm  in  her  first 
youth,  was  to  be  the  milkmaid.  But  when  she 
began  operations,  she  did  no  more  than  begin. 
Milk  as  industriously  as  she  mightk  she  got  no 
milk. 


N 


IO2  Rudder  Grange. 

"This  is  a  queer  cow,"  said  Pomona. 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  know  how  to  milk?" 
asked  Euphemia  anxiously. 

"  Can  I  milk  ?"  said  Pomona.  "  Why,  of  course, 
ma'am.  I've  seen  'em  milk  hundreds  of  tii 

"But  you  never  milked,  yourself?"^  re 
marked. 

"  No,  sir,  but  I  know  just  how  it's  done.' 

That  might  be,  but  she  couldn't  do  it, 
last  we  had  to  give  up  the  matter  in  despail 
leave  the  poor  cow  until  morning,  when  Pomona 
was  to  go  for  a  man  who  occasionally  worked 
on  the  place,  and  engage  him  to  come  and  milk 
for  us. 

That  night  as  we  were  going  to  bed  I  looked 
out  of  the  window  at  the  barn  which  contained 
the  cow,  and  was  astonished  to  see  that  there  was 
a  light  inside  of  the  building. 

"What!"  I  exclaimed.  "Can't  we  be  left  in 
peaceful  possession  of  a  cow  for  a  single  night  ?  " 
And,  taking  my  revolver,  I  hurried  down-stairs 
and  out-of-doors,  forgetting  my  hat  in  my  haste 
Euphemia  screamed  after  me  to  be  careful  and  keep 
the  pistol  pointed  away  from  me. 

I  whistled  for  the  dog  as  I  went  out,  but  to  m) 
surprise  he  did  not  answer. 

"Has  he  been  killed?"  I  thought,  and,  for  a 
moment,  I  wished  that  I  was  a  large  family  of 
brothers — all  armed. 


Rudder  Grange.  103 

But  on  my  way  to  the  barn  I  met  a  person  ap 
proaching  with  a  lantern  and  a  dog.  It  was  Pomo 
na,  and  she  had  a  milk-pail  on  her  arm. 

"See  here,  sir,"  she  said,  "it's  mor'n  half  full. 
I  just  Aade  up  my  mind  that  I'd  learn  to  milk — if 
it  tooMme  all  night.  I  didn't  go  to  bed  at  all, 
and  lip  been  at  the  barn  fur  an  hour.  And 
there^Bit  no  need  of  my  goin'  after  no  man  in  the 
mornB,"  said  she,  hanging  up  the  barn  key  on  its 

I  simply  mention  this  circumstance  to  show  what 
kind  of  a  girl  Pomona  had  grown  to  be. 

We  were  all  the  time  at  work  in  some  way,  im 
proving  our  little  place.  "  Some  day  we  will  buy 
it,"  said  Euphemia.  We  intended  to  have  some 
wheat  put  in  in  the  fall  and  next  year  we  would 
make  the  place  fairly  crack  with  luxuriance.  We 
would  divide  the  duties  of  the  farm,  and,  among 
other  things,  Euphemia  would  take  charge  of  the 
chickens.  She  wished  to  do  this  entirely  herself, 
so  that  there  might  be  one  thing  that  should  be  all 
her  own,  just  as  my  work  in  town  was  all  my  own. 
As  she  wished  to  buy  the  chickens  and  defray  all 
the  necessary  expenses  out  of  her  own  private 
funds,  I  could  make  no  objections,  and,  indeed,  I 
had  no  desire  to  do  so.  She  bought  a  chicken- 
book,  and  made  herself  mistress  of  the  subject. 
For  a  week,  there  was  a  strong  chicken  flavor  in 
all  our  conversation. 


IO4  Rudder  Grange. 

This  was  while  the  poultry  yard  was  building 
There  was  a  chicken-house  on  the  place,  but   no 
yard,  and  Euphemia  intended  to  have  a  good  big 
one,  because  she  was  going  into  the  business  to 
make  money. 

"  Perhaps  my  chickens  may  buy  the  pla^"  she 
said,  and  I  very  much  hoped  they  would. 

Everything  was  to  be  done  very  systei 
She  would  have  Leghorns,  Brahmas,  and 
fowls.  The  first,  because  they  laid  so  many^eggs  ; 
the  second,  because  they  were  such  fine,  big  fowls, 
and  the  third,  because  they  were  such  good 
mothers. 

"  We  will  eat,  and  sell  the  eggs  of  the  first  and 
third  classes,"  she  said,  "  and  set  the  eggs  of  the 
second  class,  under  the  hens  of  the  third  class." 

"  There  seems  to  be  some  injustice  in  that  ar 
rangement,"  I  said,  "  for  the  first  class  will  always 
be  childless  ;  the  second  class  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  their  offspring,  while  the  third  will  be 
obliged  to  bring  up  and  care  for  the  children  of 
others." 

But  I  really  had  no  voice  in  this  matter.  As  soon 
as  the  carpenter  had  finished  the  yard,  and  had 
made  some  coops  and  other  necessary  arra 
ments,  Euphemia  hired  a  carriage  and  went  about 
the  country  to  buy  chickens.  It  was  not  easy  to 
find  just  what  she  wanted,  and  she  was  gone  all  day. 

1 1.-wi  vei ,  she  brought  home  an  enon: 


Rudder  Grange.  105 

cock  and  ten  hens,  which  number  was  pretty 
equally  divided  into  her  three  classes.  She  was 
very  proud  of  her  purchases,  and  indeed  they  were 
fine  fowls.  In  the  evening  I  made  some  allusion 
to  the  cost  of  all  this  carpenter  work,  carriage- 
hire,  e4t.,  besides  the  price  of  the  chickens. 

"  Cfl  '  said  she,  "  you  don't  look  at  the  matter 
in  th^Bght  light.  You  haven't  studied  it  up  as  I 
have.wNow,  just  let  me  show  you  how  this  thing 
will  pay,  if  carried  on  properly."  Producing  a 
piece  of  paper  covered  with  figures,  she  continued  : 
"  I  begin  with  ten  hens — I  got  four  common  ones, 
because  it  would  make  it  easier  to  calculate.  After 
a  while,  I  set  these  ten  hens  on  thirteen  eggs  each  ; 
three  of  these  eggs  will  probably  spoil, — that  leaves 
ten  chickens  hatched  out.  Of  these,  I  will  say  that 
half  die,  that  will  make  five  chickens  for  each  hen  ; 
you  see,  I  leave  a  large  margin  for  loss.  This 
makes  fifty  chickens,  and  when  we  add  the  ten 
hens,  we  have  sixty  fowls  at  the  end  of  the  first 
year.  Next  year  I  set  these  sixty  and  they  bring  up 
five  chickens  each, — I  am  sure  there  will  be  a  larger 
proportion  than  this,  but  I  want  to  be  safe, — and 
that  is  three  hundred  chickens  ;  add  the  hens,  and 
we  have  three  hundred  and  sixty  at  the  end  of  the 
second  year.  In  the  third  year,  calculating  in  the 
same  safe  way,  we  shall  have  twenty-one  hundred 
and  sixty  chickens  ;  in  the  fourth  year  there  will 
be  twelve  thousand  nine  hundred  and  sixty,  and  at 

5' 


IO6  Rudder   Grange. 

the  end  of  the  fifth  year,  which  is  as  far  as  I  need 
to  calculate  now,  we  shall  have  sixty-four  thousand 
and  eight  hundred  chickens.  What  do  you  think 
of  that  ?  At  seventy-five  cents  apiece, — a  very  lo\\ 
price, — that  would  be  forty-eight  thousand  and  six 
hundred  dollars.  Now,  what  is  the  pcttv  cost  of 
a  fence,  and  a  few  coops,  by  the  side  of  a  Am  like 
that  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  I  answered.  "  It  is^>st  like 
a  drop  in  the  ocean.  I  hate,  my  dear,  to  inter 
fere  in  any  way  with  such  a  splendid  calculation 
as  that,  but  I  would  like  to  ask  you  one  ques 
tion." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  she  said,  "  I  suppose  you  are 
going  to  say  something  about  the  cost  of  feeding 
all  this  poultry.  That  is  to  come  out  of  the 
chickens  supposed  to  die.  They  won't  die.  It  is 
ridiculous  to  suppose  that  each  hen  will  bring  up 
but  five  chickens.  The  chickens  that  will  live,  out 
of  those  I  consider  as  dead,  will  more  than  pay  for 
the  feed." 

"That  is  not  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you, 
although  of  course  it  ought  to  be  considered. 
But  you  know  you  arc  only  going  to  set  common 
hens,  and  you  do  not  intend  to  raise  any.  Now, 
are  those  four  hens  to  do  all  the  setting  and 
mother-work  for  five  years,  and  eventually  briny 
up  over  sixty-four  thousand  chickens  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  did  make  a  mistake  there,"  she  said, 


Rudder  Grange.  107 

coloring  a  little.  "I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do;  I'll 
set  every  one  of  my  hens  every  year." 

"  But  all  those  chickens  may  not  be  hens.  You 
have  calculated  that  every  one  of  them  would  set 
as  soon  as  it  was  old  enough." 

She  stopped  a  minute  to  think  this  over. 

"Tmo  heads  are  better  than  one,  I  see,"  she 
said,  Bectly.  "  I'll  allow  that  one-half  of  all  the 
chickens  are  roosters,  and  that  will  make  the 
profits  twenty-four  thousand  three  hundred  dollars 
• — more  than  enough  to  buy  this  place." 

"  Ever  so  much  more,"  I  cried.  "  This  Rudder 
Grange  is  ours  1 " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WE  CAMP  OUT. 

MY  wife  and  I  were  both  so  fond  of  country  life 
and  country  pursuits  that  month  after  month 
passed  by  at  our  little  farm  in  a  succession  of  de 
lightful  days.  Time  flew  like  a  "  limited  express  " 
train,  and  it  was  September  before  we  knew  it. 

I  had  been  working  very  hard  at  the  office  that 
summer,  and  was  glad  to  think  of  my  two  weeks' 
vacation,  which  were  to  begin  on  the  first  Monday 
of  the  month.  I  had  intended  spending  these  two 
weeks  in  rural  retirement  at  home,  but  an  interview 
in  the  city  with  my  family  physician  caused  me  to 
change  my  mind.  I  told  him  my  plan. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  if  I  were  you,  I'd  do  nothing 
of  the  kind.  You  have  been  working  too  hard  ; 
your  face  shows  it.  You  need  rest  and  change. 
Nothing  will  do  you  so  much  good  as  to  camp  out ; 
that  will  be  fifty  times  better  than  going  to  any 
summer  resort.  You  can  take  your  wife  with  you. 
I  know  she'll  like  it.  I  don't  care  where  you 
go  so  that  it's  a  healthy  spot.  Get  a  good  tent 


Rudder  Grange.  109 

and  an  outfit,  be  off  to  the  woods,  and  forget 
all  about  business  and  domestic  matters  for  a  few 
weeks." 

This  sounded  splendid,  and  I  propounded  the 
plan  to  Euphemia  that  evening.  She  thought 
very  well  of  it,  and  was  sure  we  could  do  it.  Po- 
monAwould  not  be  afraid  to  remain  in  the  house, 
under  the  protection  of  Lord  Edward,  and  she 
could  easily  attend  to  the  cow  and  the  chickens. 
It  would  be  a  holiday  for  her  too.  Old  John,  the 
man  who  occasionally  worked  for  us,  would  come 
up  sometimes  and  see  after  things.  With  her  cus 
tomary  dexterity  Euphemia  swept  away  every 
obstacle  to  the  plan,  and  all  was  settled  before  we 
went  to  bed. 

As  my  wife  had  presumed,  Pomona  made  no 
objections  to  remaining  in  charge  of  the  house. 
The  scheme  pleased  her  greatly.  So  far,  so  good. 
I  called  that  day  on  a  friend  who  was  in  the  habit 
of  camping  out  to  talk  to  him  about  getting  a  tent 
and  the  necessary  "  traps  "  for  a  life  in  the  woods. 
He  proved  perfectly  competent  to  furnish  advice 
and  everything  else.  He  offered  to  lend  me  all  I 
needed.  He  had  a  complete  outfit  ;  had  done 
with  them  for  the  year,  and  I  was  perfectly  wel 
come.  Here  was  rare  luck.  He  gave  me  a  tent, 
camp-stove,  dishes,  pots,  gun,  fishing-tackle,  a 
big  canvas  coat  with  dozens  of  pockets  riveted  on 
it,  a  canvas  hat,  rods,  reels,  boots  that  came  up  to 


no  Rudder  Grange. 

my  hips,  and  about  a  wagon-load  of  things  in  all 
He  was  a  real  good  fellow. 

We  laid  in  a  stock  of  canned  and  condensed 
provisions,  and  I  bought  a  book  on  camping  out 
so  as  to  be  well  posted  on  the  subject.  On  the 
Saturday  before  the  first  Monday  in  September  we 
would  have  been  entirely  ready  to  start  ^ad  we 
decided  on  the  place  where  we  were  to  go. 

We  found  it  very  difficult  to  make  this  decision. 
There  were  thousands  of  places  where  people 
went  to  camp  out,  but  none  of  them  seemed  to  be 
the  place  for  us.  Most  of  them  were  too  far  away. 
We  figured  up  the  cost  of  taking  ourselves  and 
our  camp  equipage  to  the  Adirondacks,  the  lakes, 
the  trout-streams  of  Maine,  or  any  of  those  well- 
known  resorts,  and  we  found  that  we  could  not  af 
ford  such  trips,  especially  for  a  vacation  of  but  four 
teen  days. 

On  Sunday  afternoon  we  took  a  little  walk. 
Our  minds  were  still  troubled  about  the  spot 
toward  which  we  ought  to  journey  next  day,  and 
we  needed  the  soothing  influences  of  Nature. 
The  country  to  the  north  and  west  of  our  little 
farm  was  very  beautiful.  About  half  a  mile  from 
the  house  a  modest  river  ran  ;  on  each  side  of  it 
were  grass-covered  fields  and  hills,  and  in  some 
places  there  were  extensive  tracks  of  woodlands. 

"  Look  here  !  "  exclaimed  Euphemia,  stopping 
short  in  the  little  path  that  wound  along  by  the 


Rudder  Grange. 


in 


para 
and 


river  bank.  "  Do  you  see  this  river,  those  woods, 
those  beautiful  fields,  with  not  a  soul  in  them  or 
anywhere  near  them  ;  and  those  lovely  blue  moun 
tains  Ifrer  there  ?  " — as  she  spoke  she  waved  her 
in  the  direction  of  the  objects  indicated, 
uld  not  mistake  them.  "  Now  what  could 
better  than  this  ?  "  she  continued.  "  Here 
sh,  and  do  everything  that  we  want  to. 
t  us  camp  here  on  our  own  river.  I  can 
to  the  very  spot  for  the  tent.  Come  on  !  " 
was  so  excited  about  it  that  she  fairly  ran. 
ot  she  pointed  out  was  one  we  had  fre- 
'visited  in  our  rural  walks.  It  was  a  grassy 
a,  as  I  termed  it,  formed  by  a  sudden  turn 
of  a  creek  which,  a  short  distance  below,  flowed 
into  the  river.  It  was  a  very  secluded  spot.  The 
place  was  approached  through  a  pasture-field, — we 
had  found  it  by  mere  accident, — and  where  the 
peninsula  joined  the  field  (we  had  to  climb  a  fence 
just  there),  there  was  a  cluster  of  chestnut  and 
hickory  trees,  while  down  near  the  point  stood  a 
wide-spreading  oak. 

"  Here,  under  this  oak,  is  the  place  for  the  tent," 
said  Euphemia,  her  face  flushed,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
and  her  dress  a  little  torn  by  getting  over  the  fence 
in  a  hurry.  "  What  do  we  want  with  your  Adiron- 
dacks  and  your  Dismal  Swamps  ?  This  is  the  spot 
for  us  !  " 

"  Euphemia,"  said  I,  in  as  composed  a  tone  as 


1 1  2  Rnditcr  Grange. 

possible,  although  my  whole  frame  was  trembling 
with  emotion,  "  Euphemia,  I  am  glad  I  married 
you  !  " 

Had  it  not  been  Sunday,  we  would  hav^|et  up 
our  tent  that  night. 

Early  the  next  morning,  old  John's  fiftcej 
horse  drew  from  our  house  a  wagon-load  oj 
fixtures.  There  was  some  difficulty  in 
wagon  over  the  field,  and  there  were  fenc] 
taken  down  to  allow  of  its  passage  ;  but 
came  all  obstacles,  and  reached  the  camp] 
without  breaking  so  much  as  a  teacup, 
helped  me  pitch  the  tent,  and  as  neitru 
understood  the  matter  very  well,  it  took 
time.  It  was,  in^ed,  nearly  noon  when  ok 
left  us,  and  it  may  have  been  possible  that  he  de 
layed  matters  a  little  so  as  to  be  able  to  charge  for 
a  full  half-day  for  himself  and  horse.  Euphemia 
got  into  the  wagon  to  ride  back  with  him,  that  she 
might  give  some  parting  injunctions  to  Pomona. 

"  I'll  have  to  stop  a  bit  to  put  up  the  fences, 
ma'am,"  said  old  John,  "  or  Misther  Ball  might 
make  a  fuss." 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Ball's  land  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,  it's  Mr.  Ball's  land." 

"  I  wonder  how  he'll  like  our  camping  on  it  ?" 
I  said,  thoughtfully. 

"  I'd  'a'  thought,  sir,  you'd  'a'  asked  him  that 
before  you  came,"  said  old  John,  in  a  tone  that 


Rudder  Grange 


seemed  to  indicate  that  he  had  his  doubts  about 
Mr.  Ball. 

"  Oh,  there'll  be  no  trouble  about  that,"  cried 
Eupj^mia.     "  You  can  drive  me  past  Mr.  Ball's, 
lot   much   out   of  the   way, — and  I'll    ask 

that  wagon  ?  "  said  I.     "  Will  you  stop  at 
1's  door  in  that  ?  " 

ainly,"  said  she,  as  she  arranged  herself 
oard  which  served  as  a  seat.     "  Now  that 
paign  has  really  commenced,  we  ought  to 
rough  it,  and  should  not  be  too  proud  to 

n  in  a — in  a " 

evidently  couldn't  think  of  any  vehicle  mean 
enough  for  her  purpose.  ^ 

"  In  a  green-grocery  cart,"  I  suggested. 
"  Yes,  or  in  a  red  one.     Go  ahead,  John." 
When  Euphemia  returned  on  foot,  I  had  a  fire 
in  the  camp-stove  and  the  kettle  was  on. 

"  Well,"  said  Euphemia,  "  Mr.  Ball  says  it's  all 
right,  if  we  keep  the  fence  up.  He  don't  want 
his  cows  to  get  into  the  creek,  and  I'm  sure  we 
don't  want  'em  walking  over  us.  He  couldn't  un 
derstand,  though,  why  we  wanted  to  live  out  here. 
I  explained  the  whole  thing  to  him  very  carefully, 
but  it  didn't  seem  to  make  much  impression  on 
him.  I  believe  he  thinks  Pomona  has  something 
the  matter  with  her,  and  that  we  have  come  to  stay 
out  here  in  the  fresh  air  so  as  not  to  take  it." 


li 4  Rudder  Grange. 

"  What  an  extremely  stupid  man  Mr.  Ball  must 
be  !  "  I  said. 

The  fire  did  not  burn  very  well,  and  while  I  was 
at  work  at  it,  Enphemia  spread  a  cloth  up<jg  the 
grass,  and  set  forth  bread  and  butter,  cheesj 
dines,  potted  ham,  preserves,  biscuits,  and 
other  things. 

We  did  not  wait  for  the  kettle  to  boil, 
eluded  to  do  without  tea  or  coffee,  for  thi 
and  content  ourselves  with  pure  water.     Fc 
reason  or  other,  however,  the  creek  water 
seem  to  be  very  pure,  and  we  did  not  like 

"  After  lunch,"  said  I,  "  we  will  go  and  1| 
a  spring  ;  that  will  be  a  good  way  of  ex] 
the  country." 

"  If  we  can't  find  one,"  said  Euphemia,  "  we 
shall  have  to  go  to  the  house  for  water,  for  I  can 
never  drink  that  stuff." 

Soon  after  lunch  we  started  out.  We  searched 
high  and  low,  near  and  far,  for  a  spring,  but  could 
not  find  one. 

At  length,  by  merest  accident,  we  found  our 
selves  in  the  vicinity  of  old  John's  little  house.  I 
knew  he  had  a  good  well,  and  so  we  went  in  to  get 
a  drink,  for  our  ham  and  biscuits  had  made  us  very 
thirsty. 

We  told  old  John,  who  was  digging  potatoes,  and 
was  also  very  much  surprised  to  see  us  so  soon, 
about  our  unexpected  trouble  in  finding  a  spring. 


Rudder  Grange.  115 

"  No,"  said  he,  very  slowly,  "  there  is  no  spring 
very  near  to  you.  Didn't  you  tell  your  gal  to 
bring  you  water  ?  " 

"  I  replied;  "we  don't  want  her  coming 
the  camp.     She  is  to  attend  to  the  house." 
very  well,"  said  John  ;  "  I  will  bring  you 
lorning  and  night, — good,  fresh  water, — ' 
well,  for, — well,  for  ten  cents  a  day." 
it   will  be   nice,"   said    Euphemia,    "and 
[oo.     And  then  it  will  be  well  to  have  John 

f  day  ;  he  can  carry  our  letters." 
[on't  expect  to  write  any  letters." 
ither  do  I,"  said  Euphemia;  "but  it  will 
fsant  to  have  some  communication  with  the 
outer  world." 

So  we  engaged  old  John  to  bring  us  water  twice 
a  day.  I  was  a  little  disappointed  at  this,  for  I 
thought  that  camping  on  the  edge  of  a  stream 
settled  the  matter  of  water.  But  we  have  many 
things  to  learn  in  this  world. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  I  went  out  to  catch  some 
fish  for  supper.  We  agreed  to  dispense  with  din 
ner,  and  have  breakfast,  lunch,  and  a  good  solid 
supper. 

For  some  time  I  had  poor  luck.  There  were 
either  very  few  fish  in  the  creek,  or  they  were  not 
hungry. 

I  had  been  fishing  an  hour  or  more  when  I 
Kuphemla  running  toward  me. 


u6  Rudder  Grange. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Oh  !  nothing.  I've  just  come  to  see  how  you 
were  getting  along.  Haven't  you  been  gone  an 
awfully  long  time  ?  And  are  those  all  the  fish 
you've  caught  ?  What  little  bits  of  thinls  they 
are  !  I  thought  people  who  camped  out  cai^it  big 
fish  and  lots  of  them  ?  " 

"That  depends  a  good  deal  upon  wh^^  they 
go,"  said  I. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  replied  Euphemi^H'  but 
I  should  think  a  stream  as  big  as  this  wollhave 
plenty  of  fish  in  it.  However,  if  you  can't  cfll  any, 
you  might  go  up  to  the  road  and  watch  for  I  •  Mul 
ligan.  He  sometimes  comes  along  on  MolPiys." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  the  road  to  watch  for  any 
fish-man,"  I  replied,  a  little  more  testily  than  I 
should  have  spoken.  "What  sort  of  a  camping 
out  would  that  be  ?  But  we  must  not  be  talking 
here  or  I  shall  never  get  a  bite.  Those  fish  are  a 
little  soiled  from  jumping  about  in  the  dust.  You 
might  wash  them  off  at  that  shallow  place,  while  I 
go  a  little  further  on  and  try  my  luck." 

I  went  a  short  distance  up  the  creek,  and  threw 
my  line  into  a  dark,  shadowy  pool,  under  some 
alders,  where  there  certainly  should  be  fish.  And, 
sure  enough,  in  less  than  a  minute  I  got  a  splen 
did  bite, — not  only  a  bite,  but  a  pull.  I  knew  that 
I  had  certainly  hooked  a  big  fish  !  The  thing  ac 
tually  tugged  at  my  line  so  that  I  was  afraid  the 


Rudder  Grange.  117 

pole  would  break.  I  did  not  fear  for  the  line,  fof 
that,  I  knew,  was  strong.  I  would  have  played 
the  fish  until  he  was  tired,  and  I  could  pull  him  out 
without  risk  to  the  pole,  but  I  did  not  know  exact 
ly  how  the  process  of  "  playing"  was  conducted. 
I  was  -very  much  excited.  Sometimes  I  gave  a 
jerk  aft  a  pull,  and  then  the  fish  would  give  a  jerk 
and 

I  heard  some  one  running  toward  me, 
I  heard  Euphemia  cry  out  : 
him  the  butt !     Give  him  the  butt !  " 
him  what  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  without  hav- 
even  to  look  up  at  her. 
butt !  the  butt  !  "  she  cried,  almost  breath 
lessly.     "  I  know  that's  right  !     I  read  how  Ed 
ward  Everett  Hale  did  it  in  the  Adirondacks." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  Hale  at  all,"  said  I,  as  I  jumped 
about  the  bank  ;  "it  was  Mr.  Murray." 

"  Well,  it  was  one  of  those  fishing  ministers, 
and  I  know  that  it  caught  the  fish." 

"  I  know,  I  know.  I  read  it,  but  I  don't  know 
how  to  do  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  ought  to  punch  him  with  it,"  said 
she. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  I  hurriedly  replied,  "  I  can't  do 
anything  like  that.  I'm  going  to  try  to  just  pull 
him  out  lengthwise.  You  take  hold  of  the  pole 
and  go  in-shore  as  far  as  you  can  and  I'll  try  and 
get  hold  of  the  line. 


Ii8  Rudder  Grange. 

Euphemia  did  as  I  bade  her,  and  drew  the  line 
in  so  that  I  could  reach  it.  As  soon  as  I  had  a 
firm  hold  of  it,  I  pulled  in,  regardless  of  conse 
quences,  and  hauled  ashore  an  enormous  cat-fish. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  I  shouted,  "  here  is  a  prize." 

Euphemia  dropped  the  pole,  and  ran  to  me. 

"  What  a  horrid  beast ! "  she  excjfcmed. 
"  Throw  it  in  again." 

"  Not  at  all !  "  said  I.  "  This  is  a  splen^B  fish, 
if  I  can  ever  get  him  off  the  hook.  Don^ftome 
near  him!  If  he  sticks  that  back-fin  into^Ju,  it 
will  poison  you." 

"Then  I  should  think  it  would  poison  u^J)  eat 
him,"  said  she. 

«'  No  ;  it's  only  his  fin." 

"  I've  eaten  cat-fish,  but  T  never  saw  one  like 
that,"  she  said.  "Look  at  its  horrible  mouth! 
And  it  has  whiskers  like  a  cat  !  " 

"  Oh  !  you  never  saw  one  with  its  head  on,"  I 
said.  "  What  I  want  to  do  is  to  get  this  hook 
out." 

I  had  caught  cat-fish  before,  but  never  one  so 
large  as  this,  and  I  was  actually  afraid  to  take  hold 
of  it,  knowing,  as  I  did,  that  you  must  be  very 
careful  how  you  clutch  a  fish  of  the  kind.  I  final 
ly  concluded  to  carry  it  home  as  it  was,  and  then 
I  could  decapitate  it,  and  take  out  the  hook  at  my 
leisure.  So  back  to  camp  we  went,  Euphemia 
picking  up  the  little  fish  as  we  passed,  for  she  did 


Rudder  Grange.  119 

not  think  it  right  to  catch  fish  and  not  eat  them. 
They  made  her  hands  smell,  it  is  true  ;  but  she  did 
not  mind  that  when  we  were  camping. 

I  prepared  the  big  fish  (and  I  had  a  desperate 
time  getting  the  skin  off),  while  my  wife,  who  is 
one  of  the  daintiest  cooks  in  the  world,  made  the 
fire  in  the  stove,  and  got  ready  the  rest  of  the  sup 
per.  JBhe  fried  the  fish,  because  I  told  her  that 
was  dip  way  cat-fish  ought  to  be  cooked,  although 
she  fl|l  that  it  seemed  very  strange  to  her  to  camp 
out  A  the  sake  of  one's  health,  and  then  to  eat 
friecMfcod. 

B^^that  fish  was  splendid  !  The  very  smell  of 
it  rrdafie  us  hungry.  Everything  was  good,  and 
when  supper  was  over  and  the  dishes  washed,  I 
lighted  my  pipe  and  we  sat  down  under  a  tree  to 
enjoy  the  evening. 

The  sun  had  set  behind  the  distant  ridge  ;  a  de 
lightful  twilight  was  gently  subduing  every  color 
of  the  scene  ;  the  night  insects  were  beginning  to 
hum  and  chirp,  and  a  fire  that  I  had  made  under  a 
tree  blazed  up  gayly,  and  threw  little  flakes  of  light 
into  the  shadows  under  the  shrubbery. 

"Now  isn't  this  better  than  being  cooped  up  in 
a  narrow,  constricted  house  ?  "  said  I. 

"Ever  so  much  better!"  said  Euphemia. 
"  Now  we  know  what  Nature  is.  We  are  sitting 
right  down  in  her  lap,  and  she  is  cuddling  us  up. 
Isn't  that  sky  lovely  ?  Oh  !  I  think  this  is  per 


I2O  Rnddcr   Grange. 

fcctly  splendid,"  said  she,  making  a  little  dab  at 
her  face, — "  if  it  wasn't  for  the  mosquitoes." 

"They  arc  bad,"  I  said.  "  I  thought  my  pipe 
would  keep  them  off,  but  it  don't.  There  must  be 
plenty  of  them  down  at  that  creek." 

"  Down  there  !  "  exclaimed  Euphemia.  "  Why 
there  are  thousands  of  them  here  !  I  never  saw 
anything  like  it  They're  getting  wors*  every 
minute." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we  must  do,"  I 
jumping  up.     l<  We  must  make  a  smudge. 

"What's  that?  do  you  rub  it  on  yoiJielf?" 
asked  Euphemia,  anxiously.  IT 

"  No,  it's  only  a  great  smoke.  Come,  let  us 
gather  up  dry  leaves  and  make  a  smoldering  fire 
of  them." 

We  managed  to  get  up  a  very  fair  smudge,  and 
we  stood  to  the  leeward  of  it,  until  Euphemia  be 
gan  to  cough  and  sneeze,  as  if  her  head  would 
come  off.  With  tears  running  from  her  eyes,  she 
declared  that  she  would  rather  go  and  be  eaten 
alive,  than  stay  in  that  smoke. 

"Perhaps  we  were  too  near  it,"  said  I. 

"  That  may  be,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  have  had 
enough  smoke.  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before  ? 
I  brought  two  veils  !  We  can  put  these  over  our 
faces,  and  wear  gloves." 

She  was  always  full  of  expedients. 

Veiled   and   gloved,    we  bade    defiance   to    the 


Rudder  Grange.  121 

mosquitoes,  and  we  sat  and  talked  for  half  an  hour 
or  more.  I  made  a  little  hole  in  my  veil,  through 
which  I  put  the  mouth-piece  of  my  pipe. 

When  it  became  really  dark,  I  lighted  the  lan 
tern,  and  we  prepared  for  a  well-earned  night's 
rest.  The  tent  was  spacious  and  comfortable,  and 
we  each  had  a  nice  little  cot-bed. 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave  the  front-door  open  all 
night  ^T  said  Euphemia,  as  I  came  in  after  a  final 
round  to  see  that  all  was  right. 

"  I  should  hardly  call  this  canvas-flap  a  front 
door,"  I  said,  "  but  I  think  it  would  be  better  to 
leave  it  open  ;  otherwise  we  should  smother.  You 
need  not  be  afraid.  I  shall  keep  my  gun  here  by 
my  bedside,  and  if  any  one  offers  to  come  in,  I'll 
bring  him  to  a  full  stop  quick  enough." 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  awake.  But  I  suppose  we 
ought  not  to  be  afraid  of  burglars  here.  People  in 
tents  never  are.  So  you  needn't  shut  it." 

It  was  awfully  quiet  and  dark  and  lonely,  out 
there  by  that  creek,  when  the  light  had  been  put 
out,  and  we  had  gone  to  bed.  For  some  reason  I 
could  not  go  to  sleep.  After  I  had  been  lying 
awake  for  an  hour  or  two,  Euphemia  spoke  : 

"  Are  you  awake  ?  "  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  as 
if  she  were  afraid  of  disturbing  the  people  in  the 
next  room. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.      "  How  long  have  you   been 

awake  ?  " 

6 


122  Rudder  Grange. 

"  I  haven't  been  asleep." 

"  Neither  have  I." 

"  Suppose  we  light  the  lantern,"  said  she. 
"  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  pleasanter  ?  " 

"  It  might  be,"  I  replied ;  "  but  it  would  draw 
myriads  of  mosquitoes.  I  wish  I  had  brought  a 
mosquito-net  and  a  clock.  It  seems  so  lonesome 
without  the  ticking.  Good-night  !  We  ought  to 
have  a  long  sleep,  if  we  do  much  tramping  about 
to-morrow." 

In  about  half  an  hour  more,  just  as  I  was  begin 
ning  to  be  a  little  sleepy,  she  said : 

"  Where  is  that  gun  ?  " 

"  Here  by  me,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,  if  a  man  should  come  in,  try  and  be  sure 
to  put  it  up  close  to  him  before  you  fire.  In  a  lit 
tle  tent  like  this,  the  shot  might  scatter  every 
where,  if  you're  not  careful." 

"  All  right,"  I  said.     "  Good-night !  " 

"  There's  one  thing  we  never  thought  of!  "  she 
presently  exclaimed. 

"  What's  that,"  said  I. 

"  Snakes,"  said  she. 

"  Well,  don't  let's  think  of  them.  We  must  try 
and  get  a  little  sleep." 

"  Dear  knows!  I've  been  trying  hard  enough," 
she  said,  plaintively,  and  all  was  quiet  again. 

We  succeeded  this  time  in  going  to  sleep,  and  it 
was  broad  daylight  before  we  awoke. 


Rudder  Grange.  123 

That  morning,  old  John  came  with  our  water  be 
fore  breakfast  was  ready.  He  also  brought  us 
some  milk,  as  he  thought  we  would  want  it.  We 
considered  this  a  good  idea,  and  agreed  with  him 
to  bring  us  a  quart  a  day. 

"  Don't  you  want  some  wegetables  ?  "  said  he. 
"  I've  got  some  nice  corn  and  some  tomatoes,  and 
I  could  bring  you  cabbage  and  peas." 

We  had  hardly  expected  to  have  fresh  vegeta 
bles  every  day,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason 
why  old  John  should  not  bring  them,  as  he  had  to 
come  every  day  with  the  water  and  milk.  So  we 
arranged  that  he  should  furnish  us  daily  with  a  few 
of  the  products  of  his  garden. 

"  I  could  go  to  the  butcher's  and  get  you  a  steak 
or  some  chops,  if  you'd  let  me  know  in  the  morning," 
said  he,  intent  on  the  profits  of  further  commissions. 

But  this  was  going  too  far.  We  remembered 
we  were  camping  out,  and  declined  to  have  meat 
from  the  butcher. 

John  had  not  been  gone  more  than  ten  minutes 
before  we  saw  Mr.  Ball  approaching. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  he  isn't  going  to  say  we  can't 
stay  !  "  exclaimed  Euphemia. 

"  How  d'ye  do?  "  said  Mr.  Ball,  shaking  hands 
with  us.  "  Did  you  stick  it  out  all  night  ?  " 

"Oh  yes,  indeed,"  I  replied,  "and  expect  to 
stick  it  out  for  a  many  more  nights  if  you  don't 
object  to  our  occupying  your  land." 


124  Rudder  Grange. 

"No  objection  in  the  world,"  said  he;  "  but  it 
seems  a  little  queer  for  people  who  have  a  good 
house  to  be  living  out  here  in  the  fields  in  a  tent, 
now,  don't  it?" 

"  Oh,  but  you  see,"  said  I,  and  I  went  on  and  ex 
plained  the  whole  thing  to  him, — the  advice  of  the 
doctor,  the  discussion  about  the  proper  place  to  go 
to,  and  the  good  reasons  for  fixing  on  this  spot. 

"  Ye-es,"  said  he,  "  that's  all  very  well,  no 
doubt.  But  how's  the  girl  ?  " 

"What  girl?"  I  asked. 

"  Your  girl.  The  hired  girl  you  left  at  the 
house." 

"Oh,  she's  all  right,"  said  I;  "she's  always 
well." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Ball,  slowly  turning  on  his 
heel,  "  if  you  say  so,  I  suppose  she  is.  But  you're 
going  up  to  the  house  to-day  to  see  about  her, 
aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Euphemia.  "  We  don't  intend 
to  go  near  the  house  until  our  camping  is  over." 

"  Just  so, — just  so,"  said  Mr.  Ball ;  "  I  expected 
as  much.  But  look  here,  don't  you  think  it  would 
be  well  for  me  to  ask  Dr.  Ames  to  stop  in  and  see 
how  she  is  gettin'  along  ?  I  dare  say  you've  fixed 
everything  for  her,  but  that  would  be  safer,  you 
know.  He's  coming  this  morning  to  vaccinate  my 
baby,  and  he  might  stop  there,  just  as  well  as  not, 
after  he  has  left  my  house." 


Rudder  Grange.  125 

Euphemia  and  I  could  see  no  necessity  for  this 
proposed  visit  of  the  doctor,  but  we  could  not  well 
object  to  it,  and  so  Mr.  Ball  said  he  would  be  sure 
and  send  him. 

After  our  visitor  had  gone,  the  significance  of 
his  remarks  flashed  on  me.  He  still  thought  that 
Pomona  was  sick  with  something  catching,  and 
that  we  were  afraid  to  stay  in  the  house  with  her. 
But  I  said  nothing  about  this  to  Euphemia.  It 
would  only  worry  her,  and  our  vacation  was  to  be 
a  season  of  unalloyed  delight. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WET    BLANKETS. 

WE  certainly  enjoyed  our  second  day  in  camp. 
All  the  morning,  and  a  great  part  of  the  after 
noon,  we  "explored."  We  fastened  up  the  tent 
as  well  as  we  could,  and  then,  I  with  my  gun,  and 
Euphemia  with  the  fishing-pole,  we  started  up  the 
creek.  We  did  not  go  very  far,  for  it  would  not 
do  to  leave  the  tent  too  long.  I  did  not  shoot  any 
thing,  but  Euphemia  caught  two  or  three  nice  little 
fish,  and  we  enjoyed  the  sport  exceedingly. 

Soon  after  we  returned  in  the  afternoon,  and 
while  we  were  getting  things  in  order  for  supper, 
we  had  a  call  from  two  of  our  neighbors,  Captain 
Atkinson  and  wife.  The  captain  greeted  us  hilari 
ously. 

"  Hello  !  "  he  cried.  "  Why,  this  is  gay.  Who 
would  ever  have  thought  of  a  domestic  couple  like 
you  going  on  such  a  lark  as  this.  We  just  heard 
about  it  from  old  John,  and  we  came  down  to  see 
what  you  are  up  to.  You've  got  everything  very 
nice.  I  think  I'd  like  this  myself.  Why,  yoti 


Rudiier  Grange. 

might  have  a  rifle-range  out  here.  You  could  cul 
down  those  bushes  on  the  other  side  of  the  creek, 
and  put  up  your  target  over  there  on  that  hill. 
Then  you  could  lie  down  here  on  the  grass  and 
bang  away  all  day.  If  you'll  do  that,  I'll  come 
down  and  practice  with  you.  How  long  are  you 
going  to  keep  it  up  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  we  expected  to  spend  my  two 
weeks'  vacation  here. 

"  Not  if  it  rains,  my  boy,"  said  he.  "I  know 
what  it  is  to  camp  out  in  the  rain." 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Atkinson  had  been  with  Eu- 
phemia  examining  the  tent,  and  our  equipage 
generally. 

"  It  would  be  very  nice  for  a  day's  picnic,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  I  wouldn't  want  to  stay  out-of-doors 
all  night." 

And  then,  addressing  me,  she  asked : 

"Do  you  have  to  breathe  the  fresh  air  all  the 
time,  night  as  well  as  day  ?  I  expect  that  is  a  very 
good  prescription,  but  I  would  not  like  to  have  to 
follow  it  myself." 

"  If  the  fresh  air  is  what  you  must  have,"  said 
the  captain,  "  you  might  have  got  all  you  wanted 
of  that  without  taking  the  trouble  to  come  out 
here.  You  could  have  sat  out  on  your  back  porch 
night  and  day  for  the  whole  two  weeks,  and 
breathed  all  the  fresh  air  that  any  man  could  need." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  I  might  have  gone  down 


128  Rudder  Grange. 

cellar  and  put  my  head  in  the  cold-air  box  of  thf 
furnace.  But  there  wouldn't  have  been  much  fua 
in  that." 

"  There  are  a  good  many  things  that  there's  no 
fun  in,"  said  the  captain.  "  Do  you  cook  your 
own  meals,  or  have  them  sent  from  the  house  ?  " 

"  Cook  them  ourselves,  of  course,"  said  Euphe- 
mia.  "  We  are  going  to  have  supper  now.  Won't 
you  wait  and  take  some  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Atkinson,  "  but  we 
must  go." 

"Yes,  we  must  be  going,"  said  the  captain. 
"  Good-bye.  If  it  rains  I'll  come  down  after  you 
with  an  umbrella.'' 

"You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  that," 
said  I.  "  We  shall  rough  it  out,  rain  or  shine." 

"  I'd  stay  here  now,"  said  Euphemia,  when  they 
had  gone,  "  if  it  rained  pitch." 

"  You  mean  pitchforks,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  anything,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  the  pitchforks,"  I 
said,  looking  over  the  creek  at  the  sky;  ''but 
am  very  much  afraid  that  it  is  going  to  rain  rain 
water  to-morrow.     But  that  won't  drive  us  home 
will  it  ?  " 

"No,  Indeed!"  said  she.  "We're  prepared 
for  it.  But  I  wish  they'd  staid  at  home." 

Sure  enough,  it  commenced  to  rain  that  night, 
and  we  had  showers  all  the  next  day.  We  staid  in 


Rudder  Grange.  129 

camp  during  the  morning,  and  I  smoked  and  we 
played  checkers,  and  had  a  very  cosy  time,  with  a 
wood  fire  burning  under  a  tree  near  by.  We  kept  up 
this  fire,  not  to  dry  the  air,  but  to  make  things  look 
comfortable.  In  the  afternoon  I  dressed  myself  up  in 
water-proof  coat,  boots  and  hat,  and  went  out  fish 
ing.  I  went  down  to  the  water  and  fished  along 
the  banks  for  an  hour,  but  caught  nothing  of  any 
consequence.  This  was  a  great  disappointment, 
for  we  had  expected  to  live  on  fresh  fish  for  a  great 
part  of  the  time  while  we  were  camping.  With 
plenty  of  fish,  we  could  do  without  meat  very  well. 

We  talked  the  matter  over  on  my  return,  and  we 
agreed  that  as  it  seemed  impossible  to  depend  upon 
a  supply  of  fish,  from  the  waters  about  our  camp, 
it  would  be  better  to  let  old  John  bring  fresh  meat 
from  the  butcher,  and  as  neither  of  us  liked 
crackers,  we  also  agreed  that  he  should  bring 
bread. 

Our  greatest  trouble,  that  evening,  was  to  make 
a  fire.  The  wood,  of  which  there  was  a  good  deal 
lying  about  under  the  trees,  was  now  all  wet  and 
would  not  burn.  However,  we  managed  to  get  up 
a  fire  in  the  stove,  but  I  did  not  know  what  we 
were  going  to  do  in  the  morning.  We  should 
have  stored  away  some  wood  under  shelter. 

We  set  our  little  camp-table  in  the  tent,  and  we 
had  scarcely  finished  our  supper,  when  a  very  heavy 
rain  set  in,  accompanied  by  a  violent  wind.  The 


130  Rudder  Grange. 

canvas  at  one  end  of  our  tent  must  have  been 
badly  fastened,  for  it  was  blown  in,  and  in  an  in 
stant  our  beds  were  deluged.  I  rushed  out  to 
fasten  up  the  canvas,  and  got  drenched  almost  to 
the  skin,  and  although  Euphemia  put  on  her  water 
proof  cloak  as  soon  as  she  could,  she  was  pretty 
wet,  for  the  rain  seemed  to  dash  right  through  the 
tent 

This  gust  of  wind  did  not  last  long,  and  the  rain 
soon  settled  down  into  a  steady  drizzle,  but  we 
were  in  a  sad  plight.  It  was  after  nine  o'clock  be 
fore  we  had  put  things  into  tolerable  order. 

"We  can't  sleep  in  those  beds,"  said  Euphemia. 

"  They're  as  wet  as  sop,  and  we  shall  have  to  go 
up  to  the  house  and  get  something  to  spread  over 
them.  I  don't  want  to  do  it,  but  we  mustn't  catch 
our  deaths  of  cold." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said  against  this,  and 
we  prepared  to  start  out.  I  would  have  gone 
by  myself,  but  Euphemia  would  not  consent  to  be 
left  alone.  It  was  still  raining,  though  not  very 
hard,  and  I  carried  an  umbrella  and  a  lantern. 
Climbing  fences  at  night  with  a  wife,  a  lantern,  and 
an  umbrella  to  take  care  of,  is  not  very  agreeable, 
but  we  managed  to  reach  the  house,  although  once 
or  twice  we  had  an  argument  in  regard  to  the 
path,  which  seemed  to  be  very  different  at  night 
from  what  it  was  in  the  day-time. 

Lord  Edward   came   bounding  to  the  gate   to 


Rudder  Grange.  131 

meet  us,  and  I  am  happy  to  say  that  he  knew  me 
at  once,  and  wagged  his  tail  in  a  very  sociable 
way. 

I  had  the  key  of  a  side -door  in  my  pocket,  for 
we  had  thought  it  wise  to  give  ourselves  command 
of  this  door,  and  so  we  let  ourselves  in  without 
ringing  or  waking  Pomona. 

All  was  quiet  within,  and  we  went  upstairs  with 
the  lantern.  Everything  seemed  clean  and  in 
order,  and  it  is  impossible  to  convey  any  idea  of 
the  element  of  comfort  which  seemed  to  pervade 
the  house,  as  we  quietly  made  our  way  upstairs, 
in  our  wet  boots  and  heavy,  damp  clothes. 

The  articles  we  wanted  were  in  a  closet,  and 
while  I  was  making  a  bundle  of  them,  Euphemia 
went  to  look  for  Pomona.  She  soon  returned, 
walking  softly. 

"  She's  sound  asleep,"  said  she,  "  and  I  didn't 
think  there  was  any  need  of  waking  her.  We'll 
send  word  by  John  that  we've  been  here.  And 
oh  !  you  can't  imagine  how  snug  and  happy  she 
did  look,  lying  there  in  her  comfortable  bed,  in 
that  nice,  airy  room.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  neighbors,  and  especially  the  Atkin 
sons,  I  wouldn't  go  back  one  step." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  care  so 
particularly  about  it,  myself.  But  I  suppose  I 
couldn't  stay  here  and  leave  all  Thompson's  things 
out  there  to  take  care  of  themselves.* 


132  Rudder  Grange. 

"Oh  no!"  said  Euphcmia.  "And  we're  not 
going  to  back  down.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

On  our  way  down-stairs  we  had  to  pass  the  part 
ly  open  door  of  our  own  room.  I  could  not  help 
holding  up  the  lantern  to  look  in.  There  was  the 
bed,  with  its  fair  white  covering  and  its  smooth, 
soft  pillows  ;  there  were  the  easy- chairs,  the  pretty 
curtains,  the  neat  and  cheerful  carpet,  the  bureau, 
with  Euphemia's  work-basket  on  it ;  there  was 
the  little  table  with  the  book  that  we  had  been 
reading  together,  turned  face  downward  upon  it ; 
there  were  my  slippers  ;  there  was 

"Come!"  said  Euphemia,  "I  can't  bear  to 
look  in  there.  It's  like  a  dead  child." 

And  so  we  hurried  out  into  the  night  and  the 
rain.  We  stopped  at  the  wood-shed  and  got  an 
armful  of  dry  kindling,  which  Euphemia  was  ob 
liged  to  carry,  as  I  had  the  bundle  of  bed-clothing, 
the  umbrella,  and  the  lantern. 

Lord  Edward  gave  a  short,  peculiar  bark  as  we 
shut  the  gate  behind  us,  but  whether  it  was  meant  as 
a  fond  farewell,  or  a  hoot  of  derision,  I  cannot  say. 

We  found  everything  as  we  left  it  at  the  camp, 
and  we  made  our  beds  apparently  dry.  But  I  did 
not  sleep  well.  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  it 
was  not  safe  to  sleep  in  a  bed  with  a  substratum 
of  wet  mattress,  and  I  worried  Euphemia  a  little 
by  asking  her  several  times  if  she  felt  the  dampness 
striking  through. 


Rudder  Grange.  133 

To  our  great  delight,  the  next  day  was  fine  and 
clear,  and  I  thought  I  would  like,  better  than  any 
thing  else,  to  take  Euphemia  in  a  boat  up  the  river 
and  spend  the  day  rowing  about,  or  resting  in 
shady  places  on  the  shore. 

But  what  could  we  do  about  the  tent  ?  It  would 
be  impossible  to  go  away  and  leave  that,  with  its 
contents,  for  a  whole  day. 

When  old  John  came  with  our  water,  milk, 
bread,  and  a  basket  of  vegetables,  we  told  him  of 
our  desired  excursion,  and  the  difficulty  in  the 
way.  This  good  man,  who  always  had  a  keen 
scent  for  any  advantage  to  himself,  warmly  praised 
the  boating  plan,  and  volunteered  to  send  his  wife 
and  two  of  his  younger  children  to  stay  with  the 
tent  while  we  were  away. 

The  old  woman,  he  said,  could  do  her  sewing 
here  as  well  as  anywhere,  and  she  would  stay  all 
day  for  fifty  cents. 

This  plan  pleased  us,  and  we  sent  for  Mrs.  Old 
John,  who  came  with  three  of  her  children, — all 
too  young  to  leave  behind,  she  said, — and  took 
charge  of  the  camp. 

Our  day  proved  to  be  as  delightful  as  we  had 
anticipated,  and  when  we  returned,  hungry  and 
tired,  we  were  perfectly  charmed  to  find  that  Mrs. 
Old  John  had  our  supper  ready  for  us. 

She  charged  a  quarter,  extra,  for  this  service, 
and  we  did  not  begrudge  it  to  her,  though  we  de- 


134  Rudder  Grange. 

clined  her  offer  to  come  every  day  and  cook  and 
keep  the  place  in  order. 

"  However,"  said  Euphemia,  on  second 
thoughts,  "  you  may  come  on  Saturday  and  clean 
up  generally." 

The  next  day,  which  was  Friday,  I  went  out  in 
the  morning  with  the  gun.  As  yet  I  had  shot 
nothing,  for  I  had  seen  no  birds  about  the  camp, 
which,  without  breaking  the  State  laws,  I  thought 
I  could  kill,  and  so  I  started  off  up  the  river- 
road. 

I  saw  no  game,  but  after  I  had  walked  about  a 
mile,  I  met  a  man  in  a  wagon. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  he,  pulling  up;  "you'd  better 
be  careful  how  you  go  popping  around  here  on  the 
public  roads,  frightening  horses." 

As  I  had  not  yet  fired  a  single  shot,  I  thought 
this  was  a  very  impudent  speech,  and  I  think  so 
still. 

"  You  had  better  wait  until  I  begin  to  pop," 
said  I,  "  before  you  make  such  a  fuss  about  it." 

"No,"  said  he,  "  I'd  rather  make  the  fuss  be 
fore  you  begin.  My  horse  is  skittish,"  and  he 
drove  off. 

This  man  annoyed  me  ;  but  as  I  did  not,  of 
course,  wish  to  frighten  horses,  I  left  the  road  and 
made  my  way  back  to  the  tent  over  some  very 
rough  fields.  It  was  a  poor  day  for  birds,  and  I 
did  not  get  a  shot. 


Rudder  Grange.  135 

"  What  a  foolish  man  !  "  said  Euphemia,  when 
I  told  her  the  above  incident,  "  to  talk  that 
way  when  you  stood  there  with  a  gun  in  your 
hand.  You  might  have  raked  his  wagon,  fore  and 
aft." 

That  afternoon,  as  Euphemia  and  I  were  sitting 
under  a  tree  by  the  tent,  we  were  very  much  sur 
prised  to  see  Pomona  come  walking  down  the  pen 
insula. 

I  was  annoyed  and  provoked  at  this.  We  had 
given  Pomona  positive  orders  not  to  leave  the 
place,  under  any  pretense,  while  we  were  gone. 
If  necessary  to  send  for  anything,  she  could  go  to 
the  fence,  back  of  the  barn,  and  scream  across  a 
small  field  to  some  of  the  numerous  members  of 
old  John's  family.  Under  this  arrangement,  I  felt 
that  the  house  was  perfectly  safe. 

Before  she  could  reach  us,  I  called  out : 

"Why  did  you  leave  the  house,  Pomona? 
Don't  you  know  you  should  never  come  away  and 
leave  the  house  empty  ?  I  thought  I  had  made 
you  understand  that." 

"  It  isn't  empty,"  said  Pomona,  in  an  entirely 
unruffled  tone.  "  Your  old  boarder  is  there,  with 
his  wife  and  child." 

Euphemia  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay. 

"They  came  early  this  afternoon,"  continued 
Pomona,  "  by  the  I  :  14  train,  and  walked  up,  he 
carrying  the  child." 


i  36  Rudder  Grange. 

"  It  can't  be,"  cried  Euphemia.  "  Their  child's 
married." 

"  It  must  have  married  very  young,  then,"  said 
Pomona,  "  for  it  isn't  over  four  years  old  now." 

"Oh!"  said  Euphemia,  "I  know!  It's  his 
grandchild." 

"  Grandchild !  "  repeated  Pomona,  with  her 
countenance  more  expressive  of  emotion  than  I 
had  ever  yet  seen  it. 

"Yes,"  said  Euphemia;  "but  how  long  are 
they  going  to  stay  ?  Where  did  you  tell  them  we 
were  ?  " 

"  They  didn't  say  how  long  they  was  goin'  to 
stay,"  answered  Pomona.  "  I  told  them  you  had 
gone  to  be  with  some  friends  in  the  country,  and 
that  I  didn't  know  whether  you'd  be  home  to-night 
or  not." 

"  How  could  you  tell  them  such  a  falsehood  ?" 
cried  Euphemia. 

"That  was  no  falsehood,"  said  Pomona;  "it 
was  true  as  truth.  If  you're  not  your  own  friends, 
I  don't  know  who  is.  And  I  wasn't  a-goin'  to  tell 
the  boarder  where  you  was  till  I  found  out  whether 
you  wanted  me  to  do  it  or  not.  And  so  I  left  'cm 
and  run  over  to  old  John's,  and  then  down  here." 

It  was  impossible  to  find  fault  with  the  excellent 
management  of  Pomona. 

'  What  were  they  doing  ?  "  asked  Euphemia. 

"  I  opened  the  parlor,  and  she  was  in  there  with 


Rudder  Grange.  i$) 

the  child, — putting  it  to  sleep  on  the  sofa,  I  think. 
The  boarder  was  out  in  the  yard,  tryin'  to  teach 
Lord  Edward  some  tricks." 

"  He  had  better  look  out  ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  the  dog's  chained  and  growlin'  fearful  J 
What  am  I  to  do  with  'em  ?  " 

This  was  a  difficult  point  to  decide.  If  we 
went  to  see  them,  we  might  as  well  break  up  our 
camp,  for  we  could  not  tell  when  we  should  be 
able  to  come  back  to  it. 

We  discussed  the  matter  very  anxiously,  and 
finally  concluded  that  under  the  circumstances, 
and  considering  what  Pomona  had  said  about  our 
whereabouts,  it  would  be  well  for  us  to  stay  where 
we  were  and  for  Pomona  to  take  charge  of  the 
visitors.  If  they  returned  to  the  city  that  evening, 
she  was  to  give  them  a  good  supper  before  they 
went,  sending  John  to  the  store  for  what  was 
needed.  If  they  stayed  all  night,  she  could  get 
breakfast  for  them. 

"We  can  write,"  said  Euphemia,  "and  invite 
them  to  come  and  spend  some  days  with  us,  when 
we  are  at  home  and  everything  is  all  right.  I  want 
dreadfully  to  see  that  child,  but  I  don't  see  how  I 
can  do  it  now." 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  They're  sure  to  stay  all  night 
if  we  go  up  to  the  house,  and  then  I  should  have 
to  have  the  tent  and  things  hauled  away,  for  I 
couldn't  leave  them  here." 


138  Rudder  Grange. 

11  The  fact  is,"  said  Euphemia,  "  if  we  were 
miles  away,  in  the  woods  of  Maine,  we  couldn't 
leave  our  camp  to  see  anybody.  And  this  is  prac 
tically  the  same." 

"  Certainly,"  said  I  ;  and  so  Pomona  went  away 
to  her  new  charge. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  BOARDER'S  VISIT. 

FOR  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  and  indeed  far 
into  the  night,  our  conversation  consisted  almost 
entirely  of  conjectures  regarding  the  probable  con 
dition  of  things  at  the  house.  We  both  thought 
we  had  done  right,  but  we  felt  badly  about  it.  It 
was  not  hospitable,  to  be  sure  ;  but  then  I  should 
have  no  other  holiday  until  next  year,  and  our 
friends  could  come  at  any  time  to  see  us. 

The  next  morning  old  John  brought  a  note  from 
Pomona.  It  was  written  with  pencil  on  a  small 
piece  of  paper  torn  from  the  margin  of  a  news 
paper,  and  contained  the  words,  "  Here  yit." 

"  So  you've  got  company,"  said  old  John,  with 
a  smile.  "  That's  a  queer  gal  of  yourn.  She  says 
I  mustn't  tell  'em  you're  here.  As  if  I'd  tell 
'em  !  " 

We  knew  well  enough  that  old  John  was  not  at 
all  likely  to  do  anything  that  would  cut  off  the 
nice  little  revenue  he  was  making  out  of  our 
camp,  and  so  we  felt  no  concern  on  that  score. 


I4O  Rudder  Grange. 

But  we  were  very  anxious  for  further  news,  and 
we  told  old  John  to  go  to  the  house  about  ten 
o'clock  and  ask  Pomona  to  send  us  another  note. 

We  waited,  in  a  very  disturbed  condition  of 
mind,  until  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  when  old  John 
came  with  a  verbal  message  from  Pomona  : 

"  She  says  she's  a-comin'  herself  as  soon  as  she 
can  get  a  chance  to  slip  off." 

This  was  not  pleasant  news.  It  rilled  our  minds 
with  a  confused  mass  of  probabilities,  and  it  made 
us  feel  mean.  How  contemptible  it  seemed  to  be 
a  party  to  this  concealment  and  in  league  with  a 
servant-girl  who  has  to  "  slip  off!  " 

Before  long,  Pomona  appeared,  quite  out  of 
breath. 

"  In  all  my  life,"  said  she,  "  I  never  see  people 
like  them  two.  I  thought  I  was  never  goin*  to  get 
away." 

"Are  they  there  yet?"  cried  Euphemia. 
"  How  long  are  they  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Dear  knows  !  "  replied  Pomona.  "  Their  val 
ise  came  up  by  express  last  night." 

"  Oh,  we'll  have  to  go  up  to  the  house,"  said 
Euphemia.  "  It  won't  do  to  stay  away  any 
longer."  f 

"Well,"  said  Pomona,  fanning  herself  with  her 
apron,  "if  you  know'd  all  I  know,  I  don't  think 
you'd  think  so." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Euphemia. 


Rudder  Grange.  141 

"  Well,  ma'am,  they've  just  settled  down  and 
taken  possession  of  the  whole  place.  He  says  to 
me  that  he  know'd  you'd  both  want  them  to  make 
themselves  at  home,  just  as  if  you  was  there,  and 
they  thought  they'd  better  do  it.  He  asked  me 
did  I  think  you  would  be  home  by  Monday,  and 
I  said  I  didn't  know,  but  I  guessed  you  would. 
So  says  he  to  his  wife,  '  Won't  that  be  a  jolly  lark  ? 
We'll  just  keep  house  for  them  here  till  they  come/ 
And  he  says  he  would  go  down  to  the  store  and 
order  some  things,  if  there  wasn't  enough  in  the 
house,  and  he  asked  her  to  see  what  would  bq 
needed,  which  she  did,  and  he's  gone  down  for 
'em  now.  And  she  says  that,  as  it  was  Saturday ,, 
she'd  see  that  the  house  was  all  put  to  rights ;  ancj 
after  breakfast  she  set  me  to  sweepin' ;  and  it's 
only  by  way  of  her  dustin'  the  parlor  and  givin1 
me  the  little  girl  to  take  for  a  walk  that  I  got  off  at 
all." 

"  But  what  have  you  done  with  the  child  ?  "  ex 
claimed  Euphemia. 

"'Oh,  I  left  her  at  old  Johnses." 

'  *  And  so  you  think  they're  pleased  with  having 
the  house  to  themselves  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Pleased,  sir  ?  "  replied  *  Pomona  ;  "  they're 
tickled  to  death." 

"But  how  do  you  like  having  strangers  telling 
you  what  to  do  ?  "  asked  Euphemia. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Pomona,  "  he's  no  stranger, 


142  Rudder  Grange. 

and  she's  real  pleasant,  and  if  it  gives  you  a  good 
camp  out,  I  don't  mind." 

Euphemia  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  Here 
was  true  allegiance.  We  would  remember  this. 

Pomona  now  hurried  off,  and  we  seriously  dis 
cussed  the  matter,  and  soon  came  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  while  it  might  be  the  truest  hospitality 
to  let  our  friends  stay  at  our  house  for  a  day  or 
two  and  enjoy  themselves,  still  it  would  not  do  for 
us  to  allow  ourselves  to  be  governed  by  a  too  deli 
cate  sentimentality.  We  must  go  home  and  act 
our  part  of  host  and  hostess. 

Mrs.  Old  John  had  been  at  the  camp  ever  since 
breakfast-time,  giving  the  place  a  Saturday  clean 
ing.  What  she  had  found  to  occupy  her  for  so 
long  a  time  I  could  not  imagine,  but  in  her  efforts 
to  put  in  a  full  half-day's  work,  I  have  no  doubt 
she  scrubbed  some  of  the  trees.  We  had  been  so 
fully  occupied  with  our  own  affairs  that  we  had 
paid  very  little  attention  to  her,  but  she  had 
probably  heard  pretty  much  all  that  had  been 
said. 

At  noon  we  paid  her  (giving  her,  at  her  sugges 
tion,  something  extra  in  lieu  of  the  midday  meal, 
which  she  did  not  stay  to  take),  and  told  her  to 
send  her  husband,  with  his  wagon,  as  soon  as  pos 
sible,  as  we  intended  to  break  up  our  encamp 
ment.  We  determined  that  we  would  pack  every 
thing  in  John's  wagon,  and  let  him  take  the  load  to 


Rudder  Grange.  143 

his  house,  and  keep  it  there  until  Monday,  when  I 
would  have  the  tent  and  accompaniments  ex 
pressed  to  their  owner.  We  would  go  home  and 
join  our  friends.  It  would  not  be  necessary  to  say 
where  we  had  been. 

It  was  hard  for  us  to  break  up  our  camp.  In 
many  respects  we  had  enjoyed  the  novel  expe 
rience,  and  we  had  fully  expected,  during  the  next 
week,  to  make  up  for  all  our  short-comings  and 
mistakes.  It  seemed  like  losing  all  our  labor  and 
expenditure,  to  break  up  now,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it.  Our  place  was  at  home. 

We  did  not  wish  to  invite  our  friends  to  the 
camp.  They  would  certainly  have  come  had  they 
known  we  were  there,  but  we  had  no  accommo 
dations  for  them,  neither  had  we  any  desire  for 
even  transient  visitors.  Besides,  we  both  thought 
that  we  would  prefer  that  our  ex-boarder  and  his 
wife  should  not  know  that  we  were  encamped  on 
that  little  peninsula. 

We  set  to  work  to  pack  up  and  get  ready  for 
moving,  but  the  afternoon  passed  away  without 
bringing  old  John.  Between  five  and  six  o'clock 
along  came  his  oldest  boy,  with  a  bucket  of 
water. 

"  I'm  to  go  back  after  the  milk,"  he  said. 

"Hold  up!"  I  cried.  "Where  is  your  father 
and  his  wagon  ?  We've  been  waiting  for  him  for 
hours." 


144  Rudder  Grange. 

"  The  horse  is  si I  mean  he's  gone  to  Ball 

ville  for  oats." 

"  And  why  didn't  he  send  and  tell  me  ? "  I 
asked. 

"There  wasn't  nobody  to  send,"  answered  the 
boy. 

"  You  are  not  telling  the  truth,"  exclaimed  Eu- 
phemia  ;  "  there  is  always  some  one  to  send,  in  a 
family  like  yours." 

To  this  the  boy  made  no  answer,  but  again  said 
that  he  would  go  after  the  milk. 

11  We  want  you  to  bring  no  milk,"  I  cried,  now 
quite  angry.  "  I  want  you  to  go  down  to  the  sta 
tion,  and  tell  the  driver  of  the  express-wagon  to 
come  here  immediately.  Do  you  understand  ? 
Immediately." 

The  boy  declared  he  understood,  and  started  off 
quite  willingly.  We  did  not  prefer  to  have  the 
express-wagon,  for  it  was  too  public  a  convey 
ance,  and,  besides,  old  John  knew  exactly  how  to 
do  what  was  required.  But  we  need  not  have 
troubled  ourselves.  The  express-wagon  did  not 
come. 

When  it  became  dark,  we  saw  that  we  could  not 
leave  that  night.  Even  if  a  wagon  did  come,  it 
would  not  be  safe  to  drive  over  the  fields  in  the 
darkness.  And  we  could  not  go  away  and  leave 
the  camp-equipage.  I  proposed  that  Euphemia 
should  go  up  to  the  house,  while  I  remained  in 


Rudder  Grange.  145 

camp.  But  she  declined.  We  would  keep  together, 
whatever  happened,  she  said. 

We  unpacked  our  cooking-utensils  and  provi 
sions,  and  had  supper.  There  was  no  milk  for 
our  coffee,  but  we  did  not  care.  The  evening  did 
not  pass  gayly.  We  were  annoyed  by  the  conduct 
of  old  John  and  the  express-boy,  though,  perhaps, 
it  was  not  their  fault.  I  had  given  them  no  notice 
that  I  should  need  them. 

And  we  were  greatly  troubled  at  the  continuance 
of  the  secrecy  and  subterfuge  which  now  had  be 
come  really  necessary,  if  we  did  not  wish  to  hurt 
our  friends'  feelings. 

The  first  thing  that  I  thought  of,  when  I  opened 
my  eyes  in  the  morning,  was  the  fact  that  we 
would  have  to  stay  there  all  day,  for  we  could  not 
move  on  Sunday. 

But  Euphemia  did  not  agree  with  me.  After 
breakfast  (we  found  that  the  water  and  the  milk 
had  been  brought  very  early,  before  we  were  up) 
she  stated  that  she  did  not  intend  to  be  treated  in 
this  way.  She  was  going  up  to  old  John's  house 
herself;  and  away  she  went. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour,  she  returned,  followed 
by  old  John  and  his  wife,  both  looking  much  as  if 
they  had  been  whipped. 

"  These  people,"  said  she,  "  have  entered  into 
a  conspiracy  against  us.  I  have  questioned  them 
thoroughly,  and  have  made  them  answer  me. 
7 


146  Rudder  Grange. 

The  horse  was  at  home  yesterday,  and  the  boy  did 
not  go  after  the  express-wagon.  They  thought 
that  if  they  could  keep  us  here,  until  our  company 
had  gone,  we  would  stay  as  long  as  we  originally 
intended,  and  they  would  continue  to  make  money 
out  of  us.  But  they  are  mistaken.  We  are  going 
home  immediately." 

At  this  point  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  Eu- 
phemia  might  have  consulted  me  in  regard  to  her 
determination,  but  she  was  very  much  in  earnest, 
and  I  would  not  have  any  discussion  before  these 
people. 

"  Now,  listen  !  "  said  Euphemia,  addressing  the 
down-cast  couple,  "  we  are  going  home,  and  you 
two  are  to  stay  here  all  this  day  and  to-night,  and 
take  care  of  these  things.  You  can't  work  to-day, 
and  you  can  shut  up  your  house,  and  bring  your 
whole  family  here  if  you  choose.  We  will  pay 
you  for  the  service, — although  you  do  not  deserve 
a  cent, — and  we  will  leave  enough  here  for  you  to 
eat.  You  must  bring  your  own  sheets  and  pillow 
cases,  and  stay  here  until  we  see  you  on  Monday 
morning." 

Old  John  and  his  wife  agreed  to  this  plan  with 
the  greatest  alacrity,  apparently  well  pleased  to 
get  off  so  easily ;  and,  having  locked  up  the 
smaller  articles  of  camp-furniture,  we  filled  a 
valise  with  our  personal  baggage  and  started  off 
home. 


Rudder  Grange.  147 

Our  house  and  grounds  never  looked  prettier 
than  they  did  that  morning,  as  we  stood  at  the 
gate.  Lord  Edward  barked  a  welcome  from  his 
shed,  and  before  we  reached  the  door,  Pomona 
came  running  out,  her  face  radiant. 

"I'm  awful  glad  to  see  you  back,"  she  said; 
"  though  I'd  never  have  said  so  while  you  was  in 
camp." 

I  patted  the  dog  and  looked  into  the  garden. 
Everything  was  growing  splendidly.  Euphemia 
rushed  to  the  chicken-yard.  It  was  in  first-rate 
order,  and  there  were  two  broods  of  little  yellow 
puffy  chicks. 

Down  on  her  knees  went  my  wife,  to  pick  up 
the  little  creatures,  one  by  one,  press  their  downy 
bodies  to  her  cheek,  and  call  them  tootsy-wootsies, 
and  away  went  I  to  the  barn,  followed  by  Pomona, 
and  soon  afterward  by  Euphemia. 

The  cow  was  all  right. 

"  I've  been  making  butter,"  said  Pomona, 
"  though  it  don't  look  exactly  like  it  ought  to,  yet, 
and  the  skim-milk  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  with, 
so  I  gave  it  to  old  John.  He  came  for  it  every 
day,  and  was  real  mad  once  because  I  had  given  a 
lot  of  it  to  the  dog,  and  couldn't  let  him  have  but 
a  pint." 

"  He  ought  to  have  been  mad,"  said  I  to  Eu 
phemia,  as  we  walked  up  to  the  house.  "  He  got 
ten  cents  a  quart  for  that  milk." 


148  Rudder  Grange, 

We  laughed,  and  didn't  care.  We  were  too  glad 
to  be  at  home. 

"  But  where  are  our  friends  ?  "  I  asked  Pomona, 
We  had  actually  forgotten  them. 

"  Oh  !  they're  gone  out  for  a  walk,"  said  she. 
"  They  started  off  right  after  breakfast." 

We  were  not  sorry  for  this.  It  would  be  so  much 
nicer  to  see  our  dear  home  again  when  there  was 
nobody  there  but  ourselves.  In-doors  we  rushed. 
Our  absence  had  been  like  rain  on  a  garden. 
Everything  now  seemed  fresher  and  brighter  and 
more  delightful.  We  went  from  room  to  room, 
and  seemed  to  appreciate  better  than  ever  what  a 
charming  home  we  had. 

We  were  so  full  of  the  delights  of  our  return 
that  we  forgot  all  about  the  Sunday  dinner  and  our 
guests,  but  Pomona,  whom  my  wife  was  training  to 
be  an  excellent  cook,  did  not  forget,  and  Euphcmia 
was  summoned  to  a  consultation  in  the  kitchen. 

Dinner  was  late  ;  but  our  guests  were  later.  We 
waited  as  long  as  the  state  of  the  provisions  and 
our  appetites  would  permit,  and  then  we  sat  down 
to  the  table  and  began  to  eat  slowly.  But  they 
did  not  come.  We  finished  our  meal,  and  they 
were  still  absent.  We  now  became  quite  anxious, 
and  I  proposed  to  Euphemia  that  we  should  go 
and  look  for  them. 

We  started  out,  and  our  steps  naturally  turned 
toward  the  river.  An  unpleasant  thought  began 


Rudder  Grange.  149 

to  crowd  itself  into  my  mind,  and  perhaps  the  same 
thing  happened  to  Euphemia,  for,  without  saying 
anything  to  each  other,  we  both  turned  toward  the 
path  that  led  to  the  peninsula.  We  crossed  the 
field,  climbed  the  fence,  and  there,  in  front  of  the 
tent  sat  our  old  boarder  splitting  sticks  with  the 
camp-hatchet. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet  when 
he  saw  us.  "  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  back! 
When  did  you  return  ?  Isn't  this  splendid  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  I  said,  as  we  shook  hands. 

"Why  this,"  he  cried,  pointing  to  the  tent. 
"  Don't  you  see  ?  We're  camping  out." 

"  You  are  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  looking  around  for 
his  wife,  while  Euphemia  stood  motionless,  actually 
unable  to  make  a  remark. 

"  Certainly  we  are.  It's  the  rarest  bit  of  luck. 
My  wife  and  Adele  will  be  here  directly.  They've 
gone  to  look  for  water-cresses.  But  I  must  tell 
you  how  I  came  to  make  this  magnificent  find. 
We  started  out  for  a  walk  this  morning,  and  we 
happened  to  hit  on  this  place,  and  here  we  saw 
this  gorgeous  tent  with  nobody  near  but  a  little 
tow-headed  boy." 

"  Only  a  boy  ?  "  cried  Euphemia. 

"  Yes,  a  young  shaver  of  about  nine  or  ten.  I 
asked  him  what  he  was  doing  here,  and  he  told  me 
that  this  tent  belonged  to  a  gentleman  who  had 
gone  away,  and  that  he  was  here  to  watch  it  unti.1 


150  Rudder  Grange. 

he  came  back.  Then  I  asked  him  how  long  the 
owner  would  probably  be  away,  and  he  said  he 
supposed  for  a  day  or  two.  Then  a  splendid  idea 
struck  me.  I  offered  the  boy  a  dollar  to  let  me 
take  his  place :  I  knew  that  any  sensible  man 
would  rather  have  me  in  charge  of  his  tent,  than  a 
young  codger  like  that.  The  boy  agreed  as  quick 
as  lightning,  and  I  paid  him  and  sent  him  off.  You 
see  how  little  he  was  to  be  trusted  !  The  owner 
of  this  tent  will  be  under  the  greatest  obligations 
to  me.  Just  look  at  it !  "  he  cried.  "  Beds,  table, 
stove, — everything  anybody  could  want.  I've 
camped  out  lots  of  times,  but  never  had  such  a 
tent  as  this.  I  intended  coming  up  this  afternoon 
after  my  valise,  and  to  tell  your  girl  where  we  are. 
But  here  is  my  wife  and  little  Adelc." 

In  the  midst  of  the  salutations  and  the  mutual 
surprise,  Euphcmia  cried : 

"  But  you  don't  expect  to  camp  out,  now  ?  You 
are  coming  back  to  our  house  ?  " 

"  You  see,"  said  the  ex-boarder,  "we  should 
never  have  thought  of  doing  anything  so  rude, 
had  we  supposed  you  would  have  returned  so  soon. 
But  your  girl  gave  us  to  understand  that  you 
would  not  be  back  for  days,  and  so  we  felt  free  to 
go  at  any  time  ;  and  I  did  not  hesitate  to  make 
this  arrangement.  And  now  that  I  have  really 
taken  the  responsibility  of  the  tent  and  fixtures  on 
myself,  I  don't  think  it  would  be  right  to  go  away 


Rudder  Grange.  151 

and  leave  the  place,  especially  as  I  don't  know 
where  to  find  that  boy.  The  owner  will  be  back 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  I  would  like  to  explain  mat 
ters  to  him  and  give  up  the  property  in  good  order 
into  his  hands.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  we  both 
adore  camping-out,  and  we  may  never  have  such 
a  chance  again.  We  can  live  here  splendidly. 
I  went  out  to  forage  this  morning,  and  found  an 
old  fellow  living  near  by  who  sold  me  a  lot  of  pro 
visions — even  some  coffee  and  sugar — and  he's  to 
bring  us  some  milk.  We're  going  to  have  supper 
in  about  an  hour  ;  won't  you  stay  and  take  a  camp- 
meal  with  us  ?  It  will  be  a  novelty  for  you,  at  any 
rate." 

We  declined  this  invitation,  as  we  had  so  lately 
dined.  I  looked  at  Euphemia  with  a  question  in 
my  eye.  She  understood  me,  and  gently  shook 
her  head.  It  would  be  a  shame  to  make  any  ex 
planations  which  might  put  an  end  to  this  bit  of 
camp-life,  which  evidently  was  so  eagerly  enjoyed 
by  our  old  friend.  But  we  insisted  that  they  should 
come  up  to  the  house  and  see  us,  and  they  agreed 
to  dine  with  us  the  next  evening.  On  Tuesday, 
they  must  return  to  the  city. 

"Now,  this  is  what  I  call  real  hospitality,"  said 
the  ex-boarder,  warmly  grasping  my  hand.  I 
could  not  help  agreeing  with  him. 

As  we  walked  home,  I  happened  to  look  back 
and  saw  old  John  going  over  the  fields  toward 


152  Rudder  Grange. 

the  camp,  carrying  a  little  tin-pail  and  a  water 
bucket. 

The  next  day,  toward  evening,  a  storm  set  in, 
and  at  the  hour  fixed  for  our  dinner,  the  rain  was 
"pouring  down  in  such  torrents  that  we  did  not  ex 
pect  our  guests.  After  dinner  the  rain  ceased,  and 
as  we  supposed  that  they  might  not  have  made  any 
preparations  for  a  meal,  Euphemia packed  up  some 
dinner  for  them  in  a  basket,  and  I  took  it  down  to 
the  camp. 

They  were  glad  to  see  me,  and  said  they  had  a 
splendid  time  all  day.  They  were  up  before  sun 
rise,  and  had  explored,  tramped,  boated,  and  I 
don't  know  what  else. 

My  basket  was  very  acceptable,  and  I  would 
have  stayed  awhile  with  them,  but  as  they  were 
obliged  to  eat  in  the  tent,  there  was  no  place  for 
me  to  sit,  it  being  too  wet  outside,  and  so  I  soon 
came  away. 

We  were  in  doubt  whether  or  not  to  tell  our 
friends  the  true  history  of  the  camp.  I  thought 
that  it  was  not  right  to  keep  up  the  deception, 
while  Euphemia  declared  that  if  they  were  sensi 
tive  people,  they  would  feel  very  badly  at  having 
broken  up  our  plans  by  their  visit,  and  then  having 
appropriated  our  camp  to  themselves.  She  thought 
it  would  be  the  part  of  magnanimity  to  say  nothing 
about  it. 

I  could  not  help  seeing  a  good  deal  of  force  in 


Rudder  Grange.  153 

her  arguments,  although  I  wished  very  much  to 
set  the  thing  straight,  and  we  discussed  the  matter 
again  as  we  walked  down  to  the  camp,  after  break 
fast  next  morning. 

There  we  found  old  John  sitting  on  a  stump. 
He  said  nothing,  but  handed  me  a  note  written  in 
lead-pencil  on  a  card.  It  was  from  our  ex-boarder, 
and  informed  me  that  early  that  morning  he  had 
found  that  there  was  a  tug  lying  in  the  river, which 
would  soon  start  for  the  city.  He  also  found  that 
he  could  get  passage  on  her  for  his  party,  and  as 
this  was  such  a  splendid  chance  to  go  home  with 
out  the  bother  of  getting  up  to  the  station,  he  had 
just  bundled  his  family  and  his  valise  on  board, 
and  was  very  sorry  they  did  not  have  time  to  come 
up  and  bid  us  good-bye.  The  tent  he  left  in 
charge  of  a  very  respectable  man,  from  whom  he 
had  had  supplies. 

That  morning  I  had  the  camp-equipage  packed 
up  and  expressed  to  its  owner.  We  did  not  care 
to  camp  out  any  more  that  season,  but  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  vacation 
at  the  sea-shore. 

Our  ex-boarder  wrote  to  us  that  he  and  his  wife 
were  anxious  that  we  should  return  their  visit 
during  my  holidays  ;  but  as  we  did  not  see  exactly 
how  we  could  return  a  visit  of  the  kind,  we  did  not 
try  to  do  it. 
7* 


CHAPTER  XII. 

LORD   EDWARD  AND  THE  TREE-MAN. 

IT  was  winter  at  Rudder  Grange.  The  season 
was  the  same  at  other  places,  but  that  fact  did  not 
particularly  interest  Euphemia  and  myself.  It  was 
winter  with  us,  and  we  were  ready  for  it.  That 
was  the  great  point,  and  it  made  us  proud  to 
think  that  we  had  not  been  taken  unawares,  not 
withstanding  the  many  things  that  were  to  be 
thought  of  on  a  little  farm  like  ours. 

It  is  true  that  we  had  always  been  prepared  for 
winter,  wherever  we  had  lived  ;  but  this  was  a  dif 
ferent  case.  In  other  days  it  did  not  matter  much 
whether  we  were  ready  or  not ;  but  now  our  house, 
our  cow,  our  poultry,  and  indeed  ourselves,  might 
have  suffered, — there  is  no  way  of  finding  out  ex 
actly  how  much, — if  we  had  not  made  all  possible 
preparations  for  the  coming  of  cold  weather. 

But  there  was  a  great  deal  yet  to  be  thought  of 
and  planned  out,  although  we  were  ready  for  win 
ter.  The  next  thing  to  think  of  was  spring. 

We  laid  out  the  farm.     We   decided  \vherc  we 


Rudder  Grange.  155 

would  have  wheat,  corn,  potatoes,  and  oats.  We 
would  have  a  man  by  the  day  to  sow  and  reap. 
The  intermediate  processes  I  thought  I  could  at 
tend  to  myself. 

Everything  was  talked  over,  ciphered  over,  and 
freely  discussed  by  my  wife  and  myself,  except  one 
matter,  which  I  planned  and  worked  out  alone, 
doing  most  of  the  necessary  calculations  at  the 
office,  so  as  not  to  excite  Euphemia's  curiosity. 

I  had  determined  to  buy  a  horse.  This  would 
be  one  of  the  most  important  events  of  our  married 
life,  and  it  demanded  a  great  deal  of  thought, 
which  I  gave  it. 

The  horse  was  chosen  for  me  by  a  friend.  He 
was  an  excellent  beast  (the  horse),  excelling,  as 
my  friend  told  me,  in  muscle  and  wit.  Nothing 
better  than  this  could  be  said  about  a  horse.  He 
was  a  sorrel  animal,  quite  handsome,  gentle  enough 
for  Euphemia  to  drive,  and  not  too  high-minded  to 
do  a  little  farm-work,  if  necessary.  He  was  exactly 
the  animal  I  needed. 

The  carriage  was  not  quite  such  a  success.  The 
horse  having  cost  a  good  deal  more  than  I  expected 
to  pay,  I  found  that  I  could  only  afford  a  second 
hand  carriage.  I  bought  a  good,  serviceable  ve 
hicle,  which  would  hold  four  persons,  if  necessary, 
and  there  was  room  enough  to  pack  all  sorts  of 
parcels  and  baskets.  It  was  with  great  satisfaction 
that  I  contemplated  this  feature  of  the  carriage, 


i  $6  Rudder  Grange. 

which  was  a  rather  rusty-looking  affair,  although 
sound  and  strong  enough.  The  harness  was  new, 
and  set  off"  the  horse  admirably. 

On  the  afternoon  when  my  purchases  were  com 
pleted,  I  did  not  come  home  by  the  train.  I  drove 
home  in  my  own  carriage,  drawn  by  my  own 
horse  !  The  ten  miles'  drive  was  over  a  smooth 
road,  and  the  sorrel  traveled  splendidly.  If  I  had 
been  a  line  of  kings  a  mile  long,  all  in  their  chariots 
of  state,  with  gold  and  silver,  and  outriders,  and 
music,  and  banners  waving  in  the  wind,  I  could 
not  have  been  prouder  than  when  I  drew  up  in 
front  of  my  house. 

There  was  a  wagon-gate  at  one  side  of  the  front 
fence  which  had  never  been  used  except  by  the 
men  who  brought  coal,  and  I  got  out  and  opened 
this,  very  quietly,  so  as  not  to  attract  the  attention 
of  Euphemia.  It  was  earlier  than  I  usually  re 
turned,  and  she  would  not  be  expecting  me.  I 
Was  then  about  to  lead  the  horse  up  a  somewhat 
grass-grown  carriage-way  to  the  front  door,  but  I 
reflected  that  Euphemia  might  be  looking  out 
of  some  of  the  windows  and  I  had  better  drive 
up.  So  I  got  in  and  drove  very  slowly  to  the 
door. 

However,  she  heard  the  unaccustomed  noise  of 
wheels,  and  looked  out  of  the  parlor  window.  She 
did  notice  me,  but  immediately  came  around  to 
the  door.  I  hurried  out  of  the  carriage  so  quickly 


Rudder  Grange.  157 

that,  not  being  familiar  with  the  steps,  I  barely 
escaped  tripping. 

When  she  opened  the  front  door  she  was  sur 
prised  to  see  me  standing  by  the  horse. 

"Have  you  hired  a  carriage?"  she  cried. 
<(  Are  we  going  to  ride  ?  '' 

"My  dear,"  said  I,  as  I  took  her  by  the  hand, 
"  we  are  going  to  ride.  But  I  have  not  hired  a 
carriage.  I  have  bought  one.  Do  you  see  this 
horse?  He  is  ours — our  own  horse." 

If  you  could  have  seen  the  face  that  was  turned 
up  to  me, — all  you  other  men  in  the  world, — you 
would  have  torn  your  hair  in  despair. 

Afterward  she  went  around  and  around  that 
horse  ;  she  patted  his  smooth  sides  ;  she  looked, 
with  admiration,  at  his  strong,  well-forme A  legs ; 
she  stroked  his  head  ;  she  smoothed  his  mane  ; 
she  was  brimful  of  joy. 

When  I  had  brought  the  horse  some  water  in  a 
bucket — and  what  a  pleasure  it  was  to  water  one's 
own  horse  ! — Euphemia  rushed  into  the  house  and 
got  her  hat  and  cloak,  and  we  took  a  little  drive. 

I  doubt  if  any  horse  ever  drew  two  happier  peo 
ple.  Euphemia  said  but  little  about  the  carriage. 
That  was  a  necessary  adjunct,  and  it  was  good 
enough  for  the  present.  But  the  horse  !  How 
nobly  and  with  what  vigor  he  pulled  us  up  the  hills 
and  how  carefully  and  strongly  he  held  the  carriage 
back  as  we  went  clown  !  How  easily  he  trotted 


158  Rudder  Grange. 

over  the  level  road,  caring  nothing  for  the  ten  miles 
he  had  gone  that  afternoon  !  What  a  sensation  of 
power  it  gave  us  to  think  that  all  that  strength  and 
speed  and  endurance  was  ours,  that  it  would  go 
where  we  wished,  that  it  would  wait  for  us  as  long 
as  we  chose,  that  it  was  at  our  service  day  and 
night,  that  it  was  a  horse,  and  we  owned  it ! 

When  we  returned,  Pomona  saw  us  drive  in, — 
she  had  not  known  of  our  ride, — and  when  she 
heard  the  news  she  was  as  wild  with  proud  delight 
as  anybody.  She  wanted  to  unharness  him,  but 
this  I  could  not  allow.  We  did  not  wish  to  be  sel 
fish,  but  after  she  had  seen  and  heard  what  we 
thought  was  enough  for  her,  we  were  obliged  to 
send  her  back  to  the  kitchen  for  the  sake  of  the 
dinner. 

Then  we  unharnessed  him.  I  say  we,  for  Eu- 
phcmia  stood  by  and  I  explained  everything,  for 
some  day,  she  said,  she  might  want  to  do  it  her 
self.  Then  I  led  him  into  the  stable.  How  nobly 
he  trod,  and  how  finely  his  hoofs  sounded  on  the 
stable  floor ! 

There  was  hay  in  the  mow  and  I  had  brought  a 
bag  of  oats  under  the  scat  of  the  carriage. 

"Isn't  it  just  delightful,"  said  Euphcmia,  "that 
we  haven't  any  man  ?  If  we  had  a  man  he  would 
take  the  horse  at  the  door,  and  we  should  be  de 
prived  of  all  this.  It  wouldn't  be  half  like  owning 
a  horse." 


Rudder  Grange.  159 

In  the  morning  I  drove  down  to  the  station, 
Euphemia  by  my  side.  She  drove  back  and  Old 
John  came  up  and  attended  to  the  horse.  This 'he 
was  to  do,  for  the  present,  for  a  small  stipend.  In 
the  afternoon  Euphemia  came  down  after  me. 
How  I  enjoyed  those  rides  !  Before  this  I  had 
thought  it  ever  so  much  more  pleasant  and  health 
ful  to  walk  to  and  from  the  station  than  to  ride, 
but  then  I  did  not  own  a  horse.  At  night  I  at 
tended  to  everything,  Euphemia  generally  follow 
ing  me  about  the  stable  with  a  lantern.  When 
the  days  grew  longer  we  would  have  delightful 
rides  after  dinner,  and  even  now  we  planned  to 
have  early  breakfasts,  and  go  to  the  station  by  the 
longest  possible  way. 

One  day,  in  the  following  spring,  I  was  riding 
home  from  the  station  with  Euphemia, — we  seldom 
took  pleasure-drives  now,  we  were  so  busy  on  the 
place, — and  as  we  reached  the  house  I  heard  the 
dog  barking  savagely.  He  was  loose  in  the  little 
orchard  by  the  side  of  the  house.  As  I  drove  in, 
Pomona  ca*  ic  running  to  the  carriage. 

"  Man  up  the  tree  !  "  she  shouted. 

I  helped  Euphemia  out,  left  the  horse  standing 
by  the  door,  and  ran  to  the  dog,  followed  by  my 
wife  and  Pomona.  Sure  enough,  there  was  a  man 
up  the  tree,  and  Lord  Edward  was  doing  his  best 
to  get  at  him,  springing  wildly  at  the  tree  and  fairly 
shaking  with  rage. 


160  RndJcr  Grange. 

I  looked  up  at  the  man.  He  was  a  thorough 
bred  tramp,  burly,  dirty,  generally  unkempt,  but, 
unlike  most  tramps,  he  looked  very  much  fright 
ened.  His  position,  on  a  high  crotch  of  an  apple- 
tree,  was  not  altogether  comfortable,  and  although, 
for  the  present,  it  was  safe,  the  fellow  seemed  to 
have  a  wavering  faith  in  the  strength  of  apple-tree 
branches,  and  the  moment  he  saw  me,  he  earnestly 
besought  me  to  take  that  dog  away,  and  let  him 
down. 

I  made  no  answer,  but  turning  to  Pomona,  I 
asked  her  what  this  all  meant. 

"Why,  sir,  you  see,"  said  she,  "  I  was  in  the 
kitchen  bakin'  pies,  and  this  fellow  must  have  got 
over  the  fence  at  the  side  of  the  house,  for  the  dog 
didn't  see  him,  and  the  first  thing  I  know'd  he 
was  stickin'  his  head  in  the  window,  and  he  asked 
me  to  give  him  somethin'  to  eat.  And  when  \ 
said  I'd  see  in  a  minute  if  there  was  anything  for 
him,  he  says  to  me,  '  Gim  me  a  piece  of  one  of 
them  pies,' — pies  I'd  just  baked  and  was  settin'  to 
cool  on  the  kitchen  table  !  '  No,  sir,'  says  I,  '  I'm 
not  goin'  to  cut  one  of  them  pies  for  you,  or  any 
one  like  you.'  '  All  right !' says  he.  'I'll  come  in 
and  help  myself.'  He  must  have  known  there  was 
no  man  about,  and,  comin'  the  way  he  did,  he 
hadn't  seen  the  dog.  So  he  come  round  to  the 
kitchen  door,  but  I  shot  out  before  he  got  there 
and  unchained  Lord  Edward.  I  guess  he  saw  the 


Rudder  Grange. 

dog,  when  he  got  to  the  door,  and  at  any  rate  he 
heard  the  chain  clankin',  and  he  didn't  go  in,  but 
just  put  for  the  gate.  But  Lord  Edward  was  after 
him  so  quick  that  he  hadn't  no  time  to  go  to  no 
gates.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  scoot  up  this 
tree,  and  if  he'd  been  a  millionth  part  of  a  minute 
later  he'd  'a'  been  in  another  world  by  this  time." 

The  man,  who  had  not  attempted  to  interrupt 
Pomona's  speech,  now  began  again  to  implore  me 
to  let  him  down,  while  Euphemia  looked  pitifully 
at  him,  and  was  about,  I  think,  to  intercede  with 
me  in  his  favor,  but  my  attention  was  drawn  off 
from  her,  by  the  strange  conduct  of  the  dog.  Be 
lieving,  I  suppose,  that  he  might  leave  the  tramp 
for  a  moment,  now  that  I  had  arrived,  he  had 
dashed  away  to  another  tree,  where  he  was  barking 
furiously,  standing  on  his  hind  legs  and  clawing  at 
the  trunk. 

"  What's  the  matter  over  there  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  that's  the  other  fellow,"  said  Pomona. 
"  He's  no  harm."  And  then,  as  the  tramp  made  a 
movement  as  if  he  would  try  to  come  down,  and 
make  a  rush  for  safety,  during  the  absence  of  the 
dog,  she  called  out,  "  Here,  boy  !  here,  boy  !  "  and 
in  an  instant  Lord  Edward  was  again  raging  at  his 
post,  at  the  foot  of  the  apple-tree. 

1  was  grievously  puzzled  at  all  this,  and  walked 
over  to  the  other  tree,  followed,  as  before,  by  Eu 
phemia  and  Pomona, 


1 62  Rudder  Grange. 

"This  one,"  said  the  latter,  "is  a  tree- 
man " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  I,  as  I  caught  sight 
of  a  person  in  gray  trowsers  standing  among  the 
branches  of  a  cherry-tree  not  very  far  from  the 
kitchen  door.  The  tree  was  not  a  large  one,  and 
the  branches  were  not  strong  enough  to  allow  him 
to  sit  down  on  them,  although  they  supported  him 
well  enough,  as  he  stood  close  to  the  trunk  just  out 
of  reach  of  Lord  Edward. 

"This  is  a  very  unpleasant  position,  sir,"  said 
he,  when  I  reached  the  tree.  "  I  simply  came 
into  your  yard,  on  a  matter  of  business,  and  find 
ing  that  raging  beast  attacking  a  person  in  a  tree, 
I  had  barely  time  to  get  up  into  this  tree  myself, 
before  he  dashed  at  me.  Luckily  I  was  out  of  his 
reach  ;  but  I  very  much  fear  I  have  lost  some  of 
my  property." 

"  No,  he  hasn't,"  said  Pomona.  "  It  was  a  big 
book  he  dropped.  I  picked  it  up  and  took  it  into 
the  house.  It's  full  of  pictures  of  pears  and 
peaches  and  flowers.  I've  been  lookin'  at  it. 
That's  how  I  knew  what  he  was.  And  there  was 
no  call  for  his  gittin'  up  a  tree.  Lord  Edward 
never  would  have  gone  after  him  if  he  hadn't  run 
as  if  he  had  guilt  on  his  soul." 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  said  I,  addressing  the  indivi 
dual  in  the  cherry-tree,  "  that  you  came  here  to 
sell  me  some  trees." 


Rudder  Grange.  163 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  he  quickly,  "  trees,  shrubs, 
vines,  evergreens, — everything  suitable  for  a  gen 
tleman's  country  villa.  I  can  sell  you  something 
quite  remarkable,  sir,  in  the  way  of  cherry-trees, — 
French  ones,  just  imported  ;  bear  fruit  three  times 
the  size  of  anything  that  could  be  produced  on  a 
tree  like  this.  And  pears — fruit  of  the  finest  flavor 
and  enormous  size " 

"Yes,"  said  Pomona.  "I  seen  them  in  the 
book.  But  they  must  grow  on  a  ground-vine. 
No  tree  couldn't  hold  such  pears  as  them.' 

Here  Euphemia  reproved  Pomona's  forwardness, 
and  I  invited  the  tree-agent  to  get  down  out  of  the 
tree. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he  ;  "  but  not  while  that 
dog  is  loose.  If  you  will  kindly  chain  him  up,  I 
will  get  my  book,  and  show  you  specimens  of 
some  of  the  finest  small  fruit  in  the  world,  all  im 
ported  from  the  first  nurseries  of  Europe — the  Red- 
gold  Amber  Muscat  grape, — the  " 

"  Oh,  please  let  him  down  !  "  said  Euphemia, 
her  eyes  beginning  to  sparkle. 

I  slowly  walked  toward  the  tramp-tree,  revolv 
ing  various  matters  in  my  mind.  We  had  not 
spent  much  money  on  the  place  during  the  winter, 
and  we  now  had  a  small  sum  which  we  intended  to 
use  for  the  advantage  of  the  farm,  but  had  not  yet 
decided  what  to  do  with  it.  It  behooved  me  to  be 
careful. 


1 04  Rudder  Grange. 

I  told  Pomona  to  run  and  get  me  the  dog-chain, 
and  I  stood  under  the  tree,  listening,  as  well  as  I 
could,  to  the  tree-agent  talking  to  Euphemia,  and 
paying  no  attention  to  the  impassioned  entreaties 
of  the  tramp  in  the  crotch  above  me.  When  the 
chain  was  brought,  I  hooked  one  end  of  it  in  Lord 
Edward's  collar,  and  then  I  took  a  firm  grasp  of 
the  other.  Telling  Pomona  to  bring  the  tree- 
agent's  book  from  the  house,  I  called  to  that  indi 
vidual  to  get  down  from  his  tree.  He  promptly 
obeyed,  and  taking  the  book  from  Pomona,  began 
to  show  the  pictures  to  Euphemia. 

"  You  had  better  hurry,  sir,"  I  called  out.  "  I 
can't  hold  this  dog  very  long."  And,  indeed,  Lord 
Edward  had  made  a  run  toward  the  agent,  which 
jerked  me  very  forcibly  in  his  direction.  But  a 
movement  by  the  tramp  had  quickly  brought  the 
dog  back  to  his  more  desired  victim. 

"  If  you  will  just  tie  up  that  dog,  sir,"  said  the 
agent,  "  and  come  this  way,  I  would  like  to  show 
you  the  Meltinagua  pear, — dissolves  in  the  mouth 
like  snow,  sir ;  trees  will  bear  next  year." 

"  Oh,  come  look  at  the  Royal  Sparkling  Ruby 
grape!"  cried  Euphemia.  "It  glows  in  the  sun 
like  a  gem." 

"Yes,"  said  the  agent,  "and  fills  the  air  witli 
fragrance  during  the  whole  month  of  Septem 
ber " 

"  I    tell    you,"    I    shouted,    "  I    can't    hold    this 


Rudder  Grange.  165 

dog  another  minute  !  The  chain  is  cutting  the 
skin  off  my  hands.  Run,  sir,  run  !  I'm  going  to 
let  go!" 

"  Run  !  run  !  "  cried  Pomona.  "  Fly  for  your 
life  !  " 

The  agent  now  began  to  be  frightened,  and  shuf 
up  his  book. 

"  If  you  only  could  see  the  plates,  sir,  I'm 
sure  — 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  I  cried,  as  the  dog,  excited 
by  Pomona's  wild  shouts,  made  a  bolt  in  his  direc 
tion. 

"  Good-day,  if  I  must "  said  the  agent,  as 

he  hurried  to  the  gate.  But  there  he  stopped. 

"There  is  nothing,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that  would 
so  improve  your  place  as  a  row  of  the  Spitzenberg 
Sweet-scented  Balsam  fir  along  this  fence.  I'll  sell 
you  three-year-old  trees— 

"  He's  loose  !  "  I  shouted,  as  I  dropped  the 
chain. 

In  a  second  the  agent  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  gate.  Lord  Edward  made  a  dash  toward  him  ; 
but,  stopping  suddenly,  flew  back  to  the  tree  of 
the  tramp. 

"  If  you  should  conclude,  sir,"  said  the  tree- 
agent,  looking  over  the  fence,  "  to  have  a  row  of 
those  firs  along  here " 

"  My  good  sir,"  said  I,  "  there  is  no  row  of  firs 
there  nowv  and  the  fence  is  not  very  high.  My 


166  Rudder  Grange 

dog,  as  you  see,  is  very  much  excited  and  I  cannot 
answer  for  the  consequences  if  he  takes  it  into  his 
head  to  jump  over." 

The  tree- agent  turned  and  walked  slowly  away. 

"  Now,  look-a-here,"  cried  the  tramp  from  the 
tree,  in  the  voice  of  a  very  ill-used  person, 
"  ain't  you  goin'  to  fasten  up  that  dog,  and  let  me 
git  down  ?  " 

I  walked  up  close  to  the  tree  and  addressed 
him. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  am  not.  When  a  man  comes 
to  my  place,  bullies  a  young  girl  who  was  about 
to  relieve  his  hunger,  and  then  boldly  determines 
to  enter  my  house  and  help  himself  to  my  prop 
erty,  I  don't  propose  to  fasten  up  any  dog  that 
may  happen  to  be  after  him.  If  I  had  another 
dog,  I'd  let  him  loose,  and  give  this  faithful  beast 
a  rest.  You  can  do  as  you  please.  You  can 
come  down  and  have  it  out  with  the  dog,  or  you 
can  stay  up  there,  until  I  have  had  my  dinner. 
Then  I  will  drive  down  to  the  village  and  bring  up 
the  constable,  and  deliver  you  into  his  hands.  We 
want  no  such  fellows  as  you  about." 

With  that,  I  unhooked  the  chain  from  Lord 
Edward,  and  walked  off  to  put  up  the  horse. 
The  man  shouted  after  me,  but  I  paid  no  at 
tention.  I  did  not  feel  in  a  good  humor  with 
him. 

Kuphcmia  was  much  disturbed  by  the  various 


Rudder  Grange.  167 

occurrences  of  the  afternoon.  She  was  sorry  for 
the  man  in  the  tree  ;  she  was  sorry  that  the  agent 
for  the  Royal  Ruby  grape  had  been  obliged  to  go 
away ;  and  I  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  during 
dinner  to  make  her  see  things  in  the  proper  light. 
But  I  succeeded  at  last. 

I  did  not  hurry  through  dinner,  and  when  we 
had  finished  I  went  to  my  work  at  the  barn. 
Tramps  are  not  generally  pressed  for  time,  and 
Pomona  had  been  told  to  give  our  captive  some 
thing  to  eat. 

I  was  just  locking  the  door  of  the  carriage- 
house,  when  Pomona  came  running  to  me  to  tell 
me  that  the  tramp  wanted  to  see  me  about  some 
thing  very  important — just  a  minute,  he  said.  I 
put  the  key  in  my  pocket  and  walked  over  to  the 
tree.  It  was  now  almost  dark,  but  I  could  see  that 
the  dog,  the  tramp,  and  the  tree  still  kept  their  re 
spective  places. 

"  Look-a-here,"  said  the  individual  in  the  crotch, 
"  you  don't  know  how  dreadful  oneasy  these  limbs 
gits  after  you've  been  settin  up  here  as  long  as  I 
have.  And  I  don't  want  to  have  nuthin  to  do  with 
no  constables.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  :  if  you'll 
chain  up  that  dog,  and  let  me  go,  I'll  fix  things 
so  that  you'll  not  be  troubled  no  more  by  no 
tramps." 

"  How  will  you  do  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,   never  you    mind,"   said  he.     "  I'll   give 


1 GS  Rudder  Grange. 

you  my  word  of  honor  I'll  do  it.  There's  a  reg'laf 
understandin'  among  us  fellers,  you  know." 

I  considered  the  matter.  The  word  of  honor  of 
a  fellow  such  as  he  was  could  not  be  worth  much, 
but  the  merest  chance  of  getting  rid  of  tramps 
should  not  be  neglected.  I  went  in  to  talk  to 
Euphemia  about  it,  although  I  knew  what  she 
would  say.  I  reasoned  with  myself  as  much  as 
with  her. 

"  If  we  put  this  one  fellow  in  prison  for  a  few 
weeks,"  I  said,  "  the  benefit  is  not  very  great.  If 
we  are  freed  from  all  tramps,  for  the  season,  the 
benefit  is  very  great.  Shall  we  try  for  the  greatest 
good  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  Euphemia;  "and  his  legs 
must  be  dreadfully  stiff." 

So  I  went  out,  and  after  a  struggle  of  some  min 
utes,  I  chained  Lord  Edward  to  a  post  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  apple-tree.  When  he  was  secure, 
the  tramp  descended  nimbly  from  his  perch,  not 
withstanding  his  stiff  legs,  and  hurried  out  of  the 
gate.  He  stopped  to  make  no  remarks  over  tho 
fence.  With  a  wild  howl  of  disappointed  ambition, 
Lord  Edward  threw  himself  after  him.  But  the 
chain  held. 

A  lane  cf  moderate  length  led  from  our  house  to 
the  main  road,  and  the  next  day,  as  we  were  rid./ig 
home,  I  noticed,  on  the  trunk  of  a  large  tree,  which 
stood  at  the  corner  of  the  lane  and  road,  a  curious 


Rudder  Grange.  169 

mark.  I  drew  up  to  see  what  it  was,  but  we  could 
not  make  it  out.  It  was  a  very  rude  device,  cut 
deeply  into  the  tree,  and  somewhat  resembled  a 
square,  a  circle,  a  triangle,  and  a  cross,  with  some 
smaller  marks  beneath  it.  I  felt  sure  that  our 
tramp  had  cut  it,  and  that  it  had  some  significance, 
which  would  be  understood  by  the  members  of  his 
fraternity. 

And  it  must  have  had,  for  no  tramps  came  near 
us  all  that  summer.  We  were  visited  by  a  needy 
person  now  and  then,  but  by  no  member  of  the 
regular  army  of  tramps. 

One  afternoon,  that  fall,  I  walked  home,  and  at 
the  corner  of  the  lane  I  saw  a  tramp  looking  up  at 
the  mark  on  the  tree,  which  was  still  quite  dis 
tinct. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  I  said,  stepping  up 
to  him. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  "  said  the  man,  "  and  what 
do  you  want  to  know  fur  ?  " 

"Just  out  of  curiosity,"  I  said  ;  "  I  have  often 
noticed  it.  I  think  you  can  tell  me  what  it  means; 
and  if  you  will  do  so,  I'll  give  you  a  dollar." 

"  And  keep  mum  about  it  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  taking  out  the  dollar." 

"All  right!"  said  the  tramp.  "That  sign 
means  that  the  man  that  lives  up  this  lane  is  a 
mean,  stingy  cuss,  with  a  wicked  dog,  and  it's  no 
good  to  go  there." 


170  Rudder  Grange. 

I  handed  him  the  dollar  and  went  away,  perfectly 
satisfied  with  my  reputation. 

I  wish  here  to  make  some  mention  of  Kuphe- 
mia's  methods  of  work  in  her  chicken-yard.  She 
kept  a  book,  which  she  at  first  called  her  "  Fowl 
Record,"  but  she  afterward  changed  the  name  to 
"  Poultry  Register."  I  never  could  thoroughly 
understand  this  book,  although  she  has  often  ex 
plained  every  part  of  it  to  me.  She  had  pages  for 
registering  the  age,  description,  time  of  purchase 
or  of  birth,  and  subsequent  performances  of  every 
fowl  in  her  yard.  She  had  divisions  of  the  book 
for  expenses,  profits,  probable  losses  and  positive 
losses ;  she  noted  the  number  of  eggs  put  under 
each  setting  hen  ;  the  number  of  eggs  cracked  per 
day,  the  number  spoiled,  and  finally,  the  number 
hatched.  Each  chick,  on  emerging  from  its  shell, 
was  registered,  and  an  account  kept  of  its  subsequent 
life  and  adventures.  There  were  frequent  calcula 
tions  regarding  the  advantages  of  various  methods 
of  treatment,  and  there  were  statements  of  the  re 
sults  of  a  great  many  experiments — something  like 
this  :  "  Set  Toppy  and  her  sister  Pinky,  April  2nd. 
187- ;  Toppy  with  twelve  eggs, — three  Brahma, 
four  common,  and  five  Leghorn  ;  Pinky  with  thir 
teen  eggs  (as  she  weighs  four  ounces  more  than  her 
sister),  of  which  three  were  Leghorn,  five  common, 
and  five  Brahma.  During  the  twenty-second  and 
twenty-third  of  April  (same  year)  Toppy  hatched 


Rudder  Grange.  171 

out  four  Brahmas,  two  commons,  and  three  Leg 
horns,  while  her  sister,  on  these  days  and  the 
morning  of  the  day  following,  hatched  tivo  Leg-< 
hornSj  six  commons,  and  only  one  Brahma.  Now, 
could  Toppy,  who  had  only  three  JBrahma  eggs, 
and  hatched  out  four  of  that  breed,  have  exchanged 
eggs  with  her  sister,  thus  making  it  possible  for 
her  to  hatch  out  six  common  chickens,  when  she 
only  had  five  eggs  of  that  kind  ?  Or,  did  the  eggs 
get  mixed  up  in  some  way  before  going  into  the 
possession  of  the  hens?  Look  into  probabilities." 

These  probabilities  must  have  puzzled  Euphemia 
a  great  deal,  but  they  never  disturbed  her  equa 
nimity.  She  was  always  as  tranquil  and  good-hu 
mored  about  her  poultry-yard  as  if  every  hen  laid 
an  egg  every  day,  and  a  hen-chick  was  hatched 
out  of  every  egg. 

For  it  may  be  remembered  that  the  principle 
underlying  Euphemia's  management  of  her  poultry 
was  what  might  be  designated  as  the  "  cumulative 
hatch."  That  is,  she  wished  every  chicken  hatched 
in  her  yard  to  become  the  mother  of  a  brood  of 
her  own  during  the  year,  and  every  one  of  this 
brood  to  raise  another  brood  the  next  year,  and  so 
on,  in  a  kind  of  geometrical  progression.  This  plan 
called  for  a  great  many  mother-fowls,  and  so  Eu 
phemia  based  her  highest  hopes  on  a  great  annual 
preponderance  of  hens. 

We  ate  a  good  many  young  roosters  that  fall 


17*  Rudder  Grange. 

for  Euphemia  would  not  allow  all  the  products  of 
her  yard  to  go  to  market,  and,  also,  a  great  many 
eggs  and  fowls  were  sold.  She  had  not  contented 
herself  with  her  original  stock  of  poultry,  but  had 
bought  fowls  during  the  winter,  and  she  certainly 
had  extraordinary  good  luck,  or  else  her  extraor 
dinary  system  worked  extraordinarily  well. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
POMONA'S   NOVEL. 

IT  was  in  the  latter  part  of  August  of  that  year 
that  it  became  necessary  for  some  one  in  the  office 
in  which  I  was  engaged  to  go  to  St.  Louis  to  at 
tend  to  important  business.  Everything  seemed 
to  point  to  me  as  the  fit  person,  for  I  understood 
the  particular  business  better  than  any  one  else. 
I  felt  that  I  ought  to  go,  but  I  did  not  altogether 
like  to  do  it.  I  went  home,  and  Euphemia  and  I 
talked  over  the  matter  far  into  the  regulation  sleep 
ing-hours. 

There  were  very  good  reasons  why  we  should 
go  (for,  of  course,  I  would  not  think  of  taking  such 
a  journey  without  Euphemia).  In  the  first  place, 
it  would  be  of  advantage  to  me,  in  my  business 
connection,  to  take  the  trip,  and  then  it  would  be 
such  a  charming  journey  for  us.  We  had  never 
been  west  of  the  Alleghanies,  and  nearly  all  the 
country  we  would  see  would  be  new  to  us.  We 
would  come  home  by  the  great  lakes  and  Niagara, 
and  the  prospect  was  delightful  to  both  of  us. 


174  Rudder  Grange. 

But  then  we  would  have  to  leave  Rudder  Grange 
for  at  least  three  weeks,  and  how  could  we  do 
that? 

This  was  indeed  a  difficult  question  to  answer. 
Who  could  take  care  of  our  garden,  our  poultry, 
our  horse  and  cow,  and  all  their  complicated  be 
longings  ?  The  garden  was  in  admirable  condition. 
Our  vegetables  were  coming  in  every  day  in  just 
that  fresh  and  satisfactory  condition — altogether 
unknown  to  people  who  buy  vegetables — for  which 
I  had  labored  so  faithfully,  and  about  which  I  had 
had  so  many  cheerful  anticipations.  As  to  Euphe- 
mia's  chicken-yard, — with  Euphemia  away, — the 
subject  was  too  great  for  us.  We  did  not  even 
discuss  it.  But  we  would  give  up  all  the  pleasures 
of  our  home  for  the  chance  of  this  most  desirable 
excursion,  if  we  could  but  think  of  some  one  who 
would  come  and  take  care  of  the  place  while  we 
were  gone.  Rudder  Grange  could  not  run  itself 
for  three  weeks. 

We  thought  of  every  available  person.  Old  John 
would  not  do.  We  did  not  feel  that  we  could  trust 
him.  We  thought  of  several  of  our  friends  ;  but 
there  was,  in  both  our  minds,  a  certain  shrinking 
from  the  idea  of  handing  over  the  place  to  any  of 
them  for  such  a  length  of  time.  For  my  part,  I 
said,  I  would  rather  leave  Pomona  in  charge  than 
any  one  else  ;  but,  then,  Pomona  was  young  and 
a  girl  Euphemia  agreed  with  me  that  she  would 


Rudder  Grange.  175 

rather  trust  her  than  any  one  else,  but  she  also 
agreed  in  regard  to  the  disqualifications.  So,  when 
I  went  to  the  office  the  next  morning,  we  had  fully 
determined  to  go  on  the  trip,  if  we  could  find  some 
one  to  take  charge  of  our  place  while  we  were  gone. 
When  I  returned  from  the  office  in  the  afternoon, 
I  had  agreed  to  go  to  St.  Louis.  By  this  time,  I 
Jaad  no  choice  in  the  matter,  unless  I  wished  to 
interfere  very  much  with  my  own  interests.  We 
were  to  start  in  two  days.  If  in  that  time  we  could 
get  any  one  to  stay  at  the  place,  very  well ;  if  not, 
Pomona  must  assume  the  charge.  We  were  not 
able  to  get  any  one,  and  Pomona  did  assume  the 
charge.  It  is  surprising  how  greatly  relieved  we 
felt  when  we  were  obliged  to  come  to  this  conclu 
sion.  The  arrangement  was  exactly  what  we 
wanted,  and  now  that  there  was  no  help  for  it,  our 
consciences  were  easy. 

We  felt  sure  that  there  would  be  no  danger  to 
Pomona.  Lord  Edward  would  be  with  her,  and  she 
was  a  young  person  who  was  extraordinarily  well 
able  to  take  care  of  herself.  Old  John  would  be 
within  call  in  case  she  needed  him,  and  I  borrowed 
a  bull-dog  to  be  kept  in  the  house  at  night.  Po 
mona  herself  was  more  than  satisfied  with  the  plan. 

We  made  out,  the  night  before  we  left,  a  long 
and  minute  series  of  directions  for  her  guidance  in 
household,  garden  and  farm  matters,  and  directed 
her  to  keep  a  careful  record  of  everything  note 


176  Rudder  Grange. 

worthy  that  might  occur.  She  was  fully  supplied 
with  all  the  necessaries  of  life,  and  it  has  seldom 
happened  that  a  young  girl  has  been  left  in  such  a 
responsible  and  independent  position  as  that  in 
which  we  left  Pomona.  She  was  very  proud  of  it. 

Our  journey  was  ten  times  more  delightful  than 
we  had  expected  it  would  be,  and  successful  in 
every  way  ;  and  yet,  although  we  enjoyed  every 
hour  of  the  trip,  we  were  no  sooner  fairly  on  our 
way  home  than  we  became  so  wildly  anxious  to 
get  there,  that  we  reached  Rudder  Grange  on 
Wednesday,  whereas  we  had  written  that  we  would 
be  home  on  Thursday.  We  arrived  early  in  the 
afternoon  and  walked  up  from  the  station,  leaving 
our  baggage  to  be  sent  in  the  express  wagon.  As 
we  approached  our  dear  home,  we  wanted  to  run, 
we  were  so  eager  to  see  it. 

There  it  was,  the  same  as  ever.  I  lifted  the  gate- 
latch  ;  the  gate  was  locked.  We  ran  to  the  car 
riage-gate  ;  that  was  locked  too.  Just  then  I 
noticed  a  placard  on  the  fence  ;  it  was  not  printed, 
but  the  lettering  was  large,  apparently  made  with 
ink  and  a  brush.  It  read  : 

TO     BE     SOLD 
For  TAXES. 

We  stood  and  looked  at   each  other.     Euphe 
mia  turned  pale. 


Rudder  Grange.  177 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  I.  "Has  our 
landlord " 

I  could  say  no  more.  The  dreadful  thought 
arose  that  the  place  might  pass  away  from  us. 
We  were  not  yet  ready  to  buy  it.  But  I  did  not 
put  the  thought  in  words.  There  was  a  field  next 
to  our  lot,  and  I  got  over  the  fence  and  helped 
Euphemia  over.  Then  we  climbed  our  side-fence. 
This  was  more  difficult,  but  we  accomplished  it 
without  thinking  much  about  its  difficulties  ;  our 
hearts  were  too  full  of  painful  apprehensions.  I 
hurried  to  the  front  door  ;  it  was  locked.  All  the 
lower  windows  were  shut.  We  went  around  to 
the  kitchen.  What  surprised  us  more  than  any 
thing  else  was  the  absence  of  Lord  Edward.  Had 
he  been  sold  ? 

Before  we  reached  the  back  part  of  the  house, 
Euphemia  said  she  felt  faint  and  must  sit  down.  I 
led  her  to  a  tree  near  by,  under  which  I  had  made 
a  rustic  chair.  The  chair  was  gone.  She  sat  on 
the  grass  and  I  ran  to  the  pump  for  some  water. 
I  looked  for  the  bright  tin  dipper  which  always 
hung  by  the  pump.  It  was  not  there.  But  I  had 
a  traveling-cup  in  my  pocket,  and  as  I  was  taking 
it  out  I  looked  around  me.  There  was  an  air  of 
bareness  over  everything.  I  did  not  know  what 
it  all  meant,  but  I  know  that  my  hand  trembled 
as  I  took  hold  of  the  pump-handle  and  began  to 
pump. 

8* 


1 78  Rmli/cr  Grange. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  pump-handle  I  heard  a 
deep  bark  in  the  direction  of  the  barn,  and  then 
furiously  around  the  corner  came  Lord  Edward. 
Before  I  had  filled  the  cup  he  was  bounding  about 
me.  I  believe  the  glad  welcome  of  the  dog  did 
more  to  revive  Euphemia  than  the  water.  He 
was  delighted  to  see  us,  and  in  a  moment  up  came 
Pomona,  running  from  the  barn.  Her  face  was 
radiant,  too.  We  felt  relieved.  Here  were  two 
friends  who  looked  as  if  they  were  neither  sold  nor 
ruined. 

Pomona  quickly  saw  that  we  were  ill  at  ease, 
and  before  I  could  put  a  question  to  her,  she  divined 
the  cause.  Her  countenance  fell. 

"You  know,"  said  she,  "you  said  you  wasn't 
comin'  till  to-morrow.  If  you  only  had  come  then 
— I  was  goin"  to  have  everything  just  exactly  right 
— an*  now  you  had  to  climb  in " 

And  the  poor  girl  looked  as  if  she  might  cry, 
which  would  have  been  a  wonderful  thing  for  Po 
mona  to  do. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  I.  "  What  about- 
those  taxes  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  she  cried.  "  Don't  think 
another  minute  about  that.  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it  soon.  But  come  in  first,  and  I'll  get  you  some 
lunch  in  a  minute." 

We  were  somewhat  relieved  by  Pomona's  state 
ment  that  it  was  "  all  right  "  in  regard  to  the  tax 


Rudder  Grange.  179 

poster,  but  we  were  very  anxious  to  know  all  about 
the  matter.  Pomona,  however,  gave  us  little 
chance  to  ask  her  any  questions.  As  soon  as 
she  had  made  ready  our  lunch,  she  asked  us,  as  a 
particular  favor,  to  give  her  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  to  herself,  and  then,  said  she,  "  I'll  have 
everything  looking  just  as  if  it  was  to-morrow." 

We  respected  her  feelings,  for,  of  course,  it  was 
a  great  disappointment  to  her  to  be  taken  thus 
unawares,  and  we  remained  in  the  dining-room 
until  she  appeared,  and  announced  that  she  was 
ready  for  us  to  go  about.  We  availed  ourselves 
quickly  of  the  privilege,  and  Euphemia  hurried  to 
the  chicken-yard,  while  I  bent  my  steps  toward 
the  garden  and  barn.  As  I  went  out  I  noticed 
that  the  rustic  chair  was  in  its  place,  and  passing 
the  pump  I  looked  for  the  dipper.  It  was  there.  I 
asked  Pomona  about  the  chair,  but  she  did  not  an 
swer  as  quickly  as  was  her  habit. 

"  Would  you  rather,"  said  she,  "hear  it  all 
together,  when  you  come  in,  or  have  it  in  little  bits, 
head  and  tail,  all  of  a  jumble  ?  " 

I  called  to  Euphemia  and  asked  her  what  she 
thought,  and  she  was  so  anxious  to  get  to  her 
chickens  that  she  said  she  would  much  rather  wait 
and  hear  it  all  together.  We  found  everything  in 
perfect  order, — the  garden  was  even  free  from 
weeds,  a  thing  I  had  not  expected.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  that  cloud  on  the  front  fence,  I  should 


i8o  Rudder  Grange. 

have  been  happy  enough.  Pomona  had  said  it 
was  all  right,  but  she  could  not  have  paid  the 
taxes — however,  I  would  wait ;  and  I  went  to  the 
barn. 

When  Euphemia  came  in  from  the  poultry-yard, 
she  called  me  and  said  she  was  in  a  hurry  to  hear 
Pomona's  account  of  things.  So  I  went  in,  and 
we  sat  on  the  side  porch,  where  it  was  shady,  while 
Pomona,  producing  some  sheets  of  foolscap  paper, 
took  her  seat  on  the  upper  step. 

"  I  wrote  down  the  things  of  any  account  what 
happened,"  said  she,  "as  you  told  me  to,  and 
while  I  was  about  it,  I  thought  I'd  make  it  like  a 
novel.  It  would  be  jus'  as  true,  and  pYaps  more 
amusin*.  I  suppose  you  don't  mind  ?  " 

No,  we  didn't  mind.     So  she  went  on. 

"  I  haven't  got  no  name  for  my  novel.  I  in 
tended  to  think  one  out  to-night.  I  wrote  this  all 
of  nights.  And  I  don't  read  the  first  chapters,  for 
they  tell  about  my  birth  and  my  parent-age  and 
my  early  adventures.  I'll  just  come  down  to  what 
happened  to  me  while  you  was  away,  because 
you'll  be  more  anxious  to  hear  about  that.  All 
that's  written  here  is  true,  jus'  the  same  as  if  I  told 
it  to  you,  but  I've  put  it  into  novel  language  be 
cause  it  seems  to  come  easier  to  me." 

And  then,  in  a  voice  somewhat  different  from 
her  ordinary  tones,  as  if  the  "  novel  language  "  de 
manded  it,  she  began  to  read  : 


Rudder  Grange.  181 

"  Chapter  Five.  The  Lonely  house  and  the 
Faithful  friend.  Thus  was  I  left  alone.  None 
but  two  dogs  to  keep  me  com-pa-ny.  I  milk-ed 
the  lowing  kine  and  water-ed  and  fed  the  steed, 
and  then,  after  my  fru-gal  repast,  I  clos-ed  the 
man-si-on,  shutting  out  all  re-collections  of  the 
past  and  also  foresights  into  the  future.  That 
night  was  a  me-mbr-able  one.  I  slept  soundly 
until  the  break  of  morn,  but  had  the  events  trans 
pired  which  afterward  occur-red,  what  would  have 
hap-pen-ed  to  me  no  tongue  can  tell.  Early  the 
next  day  nothing  hap-pened.  Soon  after  breakfast, 
the  vener-able  John  came  to  bor-row  some  ker-o- 
sene  oil  and  a  half  a  pound  of  sugar,  but  his 
attempt  was  foil-ed.  I  knew  too  well  the  in-sid-i- 
ous  foe.  In  the  very  out-set  of  his  vil-li-an-y  I 
sent  him  home  with  a  empty  can.  For  two  long 
days  I  wander-ed  amid  the  ver-dant  pathways  of 
the  gar-den  and  to  the  barn,  whenever  and  anon 
my  du-ty  call-ed  me,  nor  did  I  ere  neg-lect  the 
fowlery.  No  cloud  o'er-spread  this  happy  pe-ri-od 
of  my  life.  But  the  cloud  was  ri-sing  in  the  hori 
zon  although  I  saw  it  not. 

"  It  was  about  twenty-five  minutes  after  eleven, 
on  the  morning  of  a  Thursday,  that  I  sat  ponder 
ing  in  my  mind  the  ques-ti-on  what  to  do  with  the 
butter  and  the  veg-et-ables.  Here  was  butter,  and 
here  was  green  corn  and  lima-beans  and  trophy 
tomats,  far  more  than  I  ere  could  use.  And  here 


1 82  Rudder  Grange. 

was  a  horse,  idly  cropping  the  fol-i-age  in  the  field, 
for  as  my  employer  had  advis-ed  and  order- ed  I 
had  put  the  steed  to  grass.  And  here  was  a 
wagon,  none  too  new,  which  had  it  the  top 
taken  off,  or  even  the  curtains  roll-ed  up,  would 
do  for  a  li-cen-ced  vender.  With  the  truck  and 
butter,  and  mayhap  some  milk,  I  could  load  that 
wagon " 

"  O,  Pomona,"  interrupted  Euphemia.  "You 
don't  mean  to  say  that  you  were  thinking  of  doing 
anything  like  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  just  beginning  to  think  of  it,"  said 
Pomona,  "  but  of  course  I  couldn't  have  gone 
away  and  left  the  house.  And  you'll  see  I  didn't 
do  it."  And  then  she  continued  her  novel.  "  Hut 
while  my  thoughts  were  thus  employ-ed,  I  heard 
Lord  Edward  burst  into  bark-ter " 

At  this  Euphemia  and  I  could  not  help  bursting 
into  laughter.  Pomona  did  not  seem  at  all  con 
fused,  but  went  on  with  her  reading. 

"  I  hurried  to  the  door,  and,  look-ing  out,  I  saw 
a  wagon  at  the  gate.  Re-pair-ing  there,  I  saw  a 
man.  Said  he,  '  Wilt  open  this  ga'te  ?  '  I  had  fas- 
ten-ed  up  the  gates  and  remov-ed  every  steal-able 
ar-ticle  from  the  yard." 

Euphemia  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  This 
explained  the  absence  of  the  rustic  seat  and  the 
dipper. 

"Thus,  with  my  mind  at  case,  I  could  lot  my 


Rudder  Grange.  183 

faith-ful  fri-end,  the  dog  (for  he  it  was),  roam 
with  me  through  the  grounds,  while  the  fi-erce 
bull-dog  guard-ed  the  man-si-on  within.  Then 
said  I,  quite  bold,  unto  him,  '  No.  I  let  in  no 
man  here.  My  em-ploy-er  and  employ-er-ess  are 
now  from  home.  What  do  you  want  ? '  Then 
says  he,  as  bold  as  brass,  '  I've  come  to  put  the 
light-en-ing  rods  upon  the  house.  Open  the  gate.' 
'  What  rods  ?  '  says  I.  '  The  rods  as  was  order 
ed,'  says  he,  '  open  the  gate.'  I  stood  and  gaz-ed 
at  him.  Full  well  I  saw  through  his  pinch-beck 
mask.  I  knew  his  tricks.  In  the  ab-sence  of  my 
em-ployer,  he  would  put  up  rods,  and  ever  so 
many  more  than  was  wanted,  and  likely,  too,  some 
miser-able  trash  that  would  attrack  the  light-en- 
ing,  instead  of  keep-ing  it  off.  Then,  as  it  would 
spoil  the  house  to  take  them  down,  they  would  be 
kept,  and  pay  demand-ed.  '  No,  sir,'  says  I. 
'  No  light-en-ing  rods  upon  this  house  whilst  I 
stand  here,'  and  with  that  I  walk-ed  away,  and  let 
Lord  Edward  loose.  The  man  he  storm-ed  with 
pas-si-on.  His  eyes  flash-ed  fire.  He  would  e'en 
have  scal-ed  the  gate,  but  when  he  saw  the  dog  he 
did  forbear.  As  it  was  then  near  noon,  I  strode 
away  to  feed  the  fowls  ;  but  when  I  did  return, 
I  saw  a  sight  which  froze  the  blood  with-in  my 
veins " 

"  The  dog  didn't  kill  him  ?  "  cried  Euphemia. 

"  Oh  no,  ma'am  !  "  said  Pomona.     "  You'll  see 


184  Rudder  Grange. 

that  that  wasn't  it.  At  one  corn-er  of  the  lot,  in 
front,  a  base  boy,  who  had  accompa-ni-cd  this  man, 
was  bang-ing  on  the  fence  with  a  long  stick,  and 
thus  attrack-ing  to  hisself  the  rage  of  Lord  Edward, 
while  the  vile  intrig-er  of  a  light-en-ing  rod-der 
had  brought  a  lad-der  to  the  other  side  of  the  house, 
up  which  he  had  now  as-cend-ed,  and  was  on  the 
roof.  What  horrors  fill-ed  my  soul  !  How  my 
form  trembl-ed  !  This,"  continued  Pomona,  "  is 
the  end  of  the  novel,"  and  she  laid  her  foolscap 
pages  on  the  porch. 

Euphemia  and  I  exclaimed,  with  one  voice, 
against  this.  We  had  just  reached  the  most  excit 
ing  part,  and,  I  added,  we  had  heard  nothing  yet 
about  that  affair  of  the  taxes. 

"You  see,  sir,"  said  Pomona,  "it  took  me  so 
long  to  write  out  the  chapters  about  my  birth,  my 
parentage,  and  my  early  adventures,  that  I  hadn't 
time  to  finish  up  the  rest.  Hut  I  can  tell  you  what 
happened  after  that  jus'  as  well  as  if  I  had  writ  it 
out."  And  so  she  went  on,  much  more  glibly  than 
before,  with  the  account  of  the  doings  of  the  light 
ning-rod  man. 

"  There  was  that  wretch  on  top  of  the  house, 
a-fixin'  his  old  rods  and  hnmmerin'  away  for  dear 
life.  He'd  brought  his  ladder  over  the  side  fence, 
where  the  dog,  a-barkin'  and  plungin'  at  the  boy 
outside,  couldn't  see  him.  I  stood  dumb  for  a 
minute,  an'  then  I  know'd  I  had  him.  I  rushed  in 


Rudder  Grange.  185 

to  the  house,  got  a  piece  of  well-rope,  tied  it  to 
the  bull-dog's  collar,  an'  dragged  him  out  and  fas 
tened  him  to  the  bottom  rung  of  the  ladder.  Then 
I  walks  over  to  the  front  fence  with  Lord  Edward's 
chain,  for  I  knew  that  if  he  got  at  that  bull-dog 
there'd  be  times,  for  they'd  never  been  allowed  to 
see  each  other  yet.  So  says  I  to  the  boy,  '  I'm  goin' 
to  tie  up  the  dog,  so  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  his 
jumpin'  over  the  fence,' — which  he  couldn't  do,  or 
the  boy  would  have  been  a  corpse  for  twenty  min 
utes,  or  may  be  half  an  hour.  The  boy  kinder 
laughed,  and  said  I  needn't  mind,  which  I  didn't. 
Then  I  went  to  the  gate,  and  I  clicked  to  the  horse 
which  was  standin'  there,  an'  off  he  starts,  as  good 
as  gold,  an'  trots  down  the  road.  The  boy,  he 
said  somethin'  or  other  pretty  bad,  an*  away  he 
goes  after  him  ;  but  the  horse  was  a-  trottin'  real 
fast,  an'  had  a  good  start." 

"  How  on  earth  could  you  ever  think  of  doing 
such  things?"  said  Euphemia.  "That  horse 
might  have  upset  the  wagon  and  broken  all  the 
lightning-rods,  besides  running  over  I  don't  know 
how  many  people." 

"But  you  see,  ma'am,  that  wasn't  my  lookout," 
said  Pomona.  "  I  was  a-defendin'  the  house,  and 
the  enemy  must  expect  to  have  things  happen  to 
him.  So  then  I  hears  an  awful  row  on  the  roof, 
and  there  was  the  man  just  coming  down  the  lad 
der.  He'd  heard  the  horse  go  off,  and  when  he 


1 86  Rudder  Grange. 

got  about  half-way  down  an'  caught  a  sight  of  the 
bull-dog,  he  was  madder  than  ever  you  seed  a 
lightnin'- rodder  in  all  your  born  days.  '  Take  that 
dog  off  of  there  !  '  he  yelled  at  me.  'No,  I  wont,' 
says  I.  'I  never  see  a  girl  like  you  since  I  was 
born,'  he  screams  at  me.  '  I  guess  it  would  'a' 
been  better  fur  you  if  you  had,'  says  I ;  an'  then 
he  was  so  mad  he  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  and 
he  comes  down  as  low  as  he  could,  and  when  he 
saw  just  how  long  the  rope  was, — which  was  pretty 
short, — he  made  a  jump,  and  landed  clear  of  the 
dog.  Then  he  went  on  dreadful  because  he  couldn't 
get  at  his  ladder  to  take  it  away  ;  and  I  wouldn't 
untie  the  dog,  because  if  I  had  he'd  'a'  torn  the 
tendons  out  of  that  fellow's  legs  in  no  time.  I  never 
see  a  dog  in  such  a  boiling  passion,  and  yet  never 
making  no  sound  at  all  but  blood-curdlin'  grunts. 
An'  I  don't  see  how  the  rodder  would  'a*  got  his 
ladder  at  all  if  the  dog  hadn't  made  an  awful  jump 
at  him,  and  jerked  the  ladder  down.  It  just  missed 
your  geranium-bed,  and  the  rodder,  he  ran  to  the 
other  end  of  it,  and  began  pullin'  it  away,  dog  an* 
all.  '  Look-a-here,'  says  I,  '  we  can  fix  him  now  ;* 
and  so  he  cooled  down  enough  to  help  me,  and  I  un 
locked  the  front  door,  and  we  pushed  the  bottom 
end  of  the  ladder  in,  dog  and  all ;  an*  then  I  shut 
the  door  as  tight  as  it  would  go,  an'  untied  the  end 
of  the  rope,  an'  the  rodder  pulled  the  ladder  out 
while  I  held  the  door  to  keep  the  dog  from  follerin', 


Rudder  Grange,  187 

which  he  came  pretty  near  doin',  anyway.  But  i 
locked  him  in,  and  then  the  man  began  stormin' 
again  about  his  wagon  ;  but  when  he  looked  out  an' 
see  the  boy  comin'  back  with  it, — for  somebody  must 
'a'  stopped  the  horse, — he  stopped  stormin'  and 
went  to  put  up  his  ladder  ag'in.  '  No,  you  don't,' 
says  I  ;  '  I'll  let  the  big  dog  loose  next  time,  and 
if  I  put  him  at  the  foot  of  your  ladder,  you'll  never 
come  down.'  '  But  I  want  to  go  and  take  down 
what  I  put  up,'  he  says  ;  '  I  aint  a-goin'  on  with 
this  job.'  '  No,'  says  I,  '  you  aint ;  and  you  can't 
go  up  there  to  wrench  off  them  rods  and  make  rain- 
holes  in  the  roof,  neither.'  He  couldn't  get  no 
madder  than  he  was  then,  an'  fur  a  minute  or  two 
he  couldn't  speak,  an'  then  he  says,  '  I'll  have  sat 
isfaction  for  this.'  An'  says  I,  '  How?  '  An'  says 
he,  '  You'll  see  what  it  is  to  interfere  with  a  ordered 
job.'  An'  says  I,  'There  wasn't  no  order  about 
it ; '  an'  says  he,  '  I'll  show  you  better  than  that ;  ' 
an'  he  goes  to  his  wagon  an'  gits  a  book.  '  There/ 
says  he,  '  read  that.'  '  What  of  it  ?  '  says  I  ; 
'  there's  nobody  of  the  name  of  Ball  lives  here.' 
That  took  the  man  kinder  aback,  and  he  said  he 
was  told  it  was  the  only  house  on  the  lane,  which 
I  said  was  right,  only  it  was  the  next  lane  he 
oughter  'a'  gone  to.  He  said  no  more  after  that, 
but  just  put  his  ladder  in  his  wagon,  and  went  off. 
But  I  was  not  altogether  rid  of  him.  He  left  a 
trail  of  his  baleful  presence  behind  him. 


1 88  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Fhat  horrid  bull-dog  wouldn't  let  me  come  in- 
to  the  house  !  No  matter  what  door  I  tried,  there 
he  was,  just  foamin'  mad.  I  let  him  stay  till  nearly 
night,  and  then  went  and  spoke  kind  to  him  ;  but 
it  was  no  good.  He'd  got  an  awful  spite  a^'in  me. 
I  found  something  to  eat  down  cellar,  and  I  made 
a  fire  outside  an'  roasted  some  corn  and  potatoes. 
That  night  I  slep'  in  the  barn.  I  wasn't  afraid  to 
be  away  from  the  house,  for  I  knew  it  was  safe 
enough,  with  that  dog  in  it  and  Lord  Edward  out 
side.  For  three  days,  Sunday  an'  all,  I  was  kep' 
out  of  this  here  house.  I  got  along  pretty  well 
with  the  sleepin'  and  the  eatin',  but  the  drinkin'  was 
the  worst.  I  couldn't  get  no  coffee  or  tea  ;  but 
there  was  plenty  of  milk." 

"  Why  didn't  you  get  some  man  to  come  and 
attend  to  the  dog  ?  "  I  asked.  "  It  was  dreadful  to 
live  that  way." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  know  no  man  that  could  do  it," 
said  Pomona.  "  The  dog  would  'a'  been  too  much 
for  Old  John,  and  besides,  he  was  mad  about  the 
kerosene.  Sunday  afternoon,  Captain  Atkinson 
and  Mrs.  Atkinson  and  their  little  girl  in  a  push- 
wagon,  come  here,  and  I  told  'em  you  was  gone 
away  ;  but  they  says  they  would  stop  a  minute, 
and  could  I  give  them  a  drink  ;  an'  I  had  nothin' 
to  give  it  to  them  but  an  old  chicken-bowl  that  I 
had  washed  out,  for  even  the  dipper  was  in  the 
house,  an'  I  told  'em  everything  was  locked  up, 


Rudder  Grange.  189 

which  was  true  enough,  though  they  must  'a' 
thought  you  was  a  queer  kind  of  people  ;  but  I 
wasn't  a-goin'  to  say  nothin'  about  the  dog,  fur,  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  was  ashamed  to  do  it.  So  as  soon  as 
they'd  gone,  I  went  down  into  the  cellar, — and  it's 
lucky  that  I  had  the  key  for  the  outside  cellar  door, 
— and  I  got  a  piece  of  fat  corn-beef  and  the  meat- 
axe.  I  unlocked  the  kitchen  door  and  went  in, 
with  the  axe  in  one  hand  and  the  meat  in  the 
other.  The  dog  might  take  his  choice.  I  know'd 
he  must  be  pretty  nigh  famished,  for  there  was 
nothin'  that  he  could  get  at  to  eat.  As  soon  as  I 
went  in,  he  came  runnin'  to  me  ;  but  I  could  see 
he  was  shaky  on  his  legs.  He  looked  a  sort  of 
wicked  at  me,  and  then  he  grabbed  the  meat.  He 
was  all  right  then." 

"  Oh,  my  !  "  said  Euphemia,  "  I  am  so  glad  to 
hear  that.  I  was  afraid  you  never  got  in.  But 
we  saw  the  dog — is  he  as  savage  yet  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Pomona  ;  "  nothin'  like  it." 
"  Look  here,  Pomona,"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  know 
about  those  taxes.     When  do  they  come  into  your 
story  ?  " 

"  Pretty  soon,  sir,"  said  she,  and  she  went  on  : 
"  After  that,  I  know'd  it  wouldn't  do  to  have 
them  two  dogs  so  that  they'd  have  to  be  tied  up 
if  they  see  each  other.  Just  as  like  as  not  I'd 
want  them  both  at  once,  and  then  they'd  go  to 
fightin',  and  leave  me  to  settle  with  some  blood- 


190  Rudder  Grange. 

thirsty  lightnin'-rodder.  So,  as  I  knovv'd  if  they 
once  had  a  fair  fight  and  found  out  which  was  mas 
ter,  they'd  be  good  friends  afterwards,  I  thought 
the  best  thing  to  do  would  be  to  let  'em  fight  it 
out,  when  there  was  nothin'  else  for  'em  to  do. 
So  I  fixed  up  things  for  the  combat." 

"  Why,  Pomona  !  "  cried  Euphemia,  "  I  didn't 
think  you  were  capable  of  such  a  cruel  thing." 

"  It  looks  that  way,  ma'am,  but  really  it  aint," 
replied  the  girl.  "  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  it  would 
be  a  mercy  to  both  of  'em  to  have  the  thing  set 
tled.  So  I  cleared  away  a  place  in  front  of  the 
wood-shed  and  unchained  Lord  Edward,  and  then 
I  opened  the  kitchen  door  and  called  the  bull. 
Out  he  came,  with  his  teeth  a-showin',  and  his 
blood-shot  eyes,  and  his  crooked  front  legs.  Like 
lightnin'  from  the  mount'in  blast,  he  made  one 
bounce  for  the  big  dog,  and  oh  !  what  a  fight  there 
was  !  They  rolled,  they  gnashed,  they  knocked 
over  the  wood-horse  and  sent  chips  a-flyin'  all  ways 
at  wonst.  I  thought  Lord  Edward  would  whip  in 
a  minute  or  two  ;  but  he  didn't,  for  the  bull  stuck 
to  him  like  a  burr,  and  they  was  havin'  it,  ground 
and  lofty,  when  I  hears  some  one  run  up  behind 
me,  and  turnin'  quick,  there  was  the  'Piscopalian 
minister,  '  My  !  my  !  my  ! '  he  hollers  ;  '  what  a 
awful  spectacle  !  Aint  there  no  way  of  stoppin' 
it  ?  '  '  No,  sir,'  says  I,  and  I  told  him  how  I  didn't 
want  to  stop  it,  and  the  reason  why.  Then  says, 


Rudder  Grange.  191 

ne,  '  Where's  your  master  ? '  and  I  told  him  how 
you  was  away.  '  Isn't  there  any  man  at  all 
about  ?  '  says  he.  *  No,'  says  I.  '  Then,'  says  he, 
*  if  there's  nobody  else  to  stop  it,  I  must  do  it  my 
self.'  An'  he  took  off  his  coat.  '  No,'  says  I, 
'  you  keep  back,  sir.  If  there's  anybody  to  plunge 
into  that  erena,  the  blood  be  mine  ; '  an'  I  put  my 
hand,  without  thinkin',  ag'in  his  black  shirt-bosom, 
to  hold  him  back  ;  but  he  didn't  notice,  bein'  so 
excited.  '  Now,'  says  I,  'jist  wait  one  minute, 
and  you'll  see  that  bull's  tail  go  between  his  legs. 
He's  weakenin'.'  An'  sure  enough,  Lord  Edward 
got  a  good  grab  at  him,  and  was  a-shakin'  the  very 
life  out  of  him,  when  I  run  up  and  took  Lord  Edward 
by  the  collar.  '  Drop  it ! '  says  I,  and  he  dropped  it, 
for  he  know'd  he'd  whipped,  and  he  was  pretty 
tired  hisself.  Then  the  bull-dog,  he  trotted  off  with 
his  tail  a-hangin'  down.  '  Now,  then,'  says  I,  '  them 
dogs  will  be  bosom  friends  forever  after  this.' 
'  Ah  me  ! '  says  he,  '  I'm  sorry  indeed  that  your 
employer,  for  who  I've  always  had  a  great  respect, 
should  allow  you  to  get  into  such  habits.'  That 
made  me  feel  real  bad,  and  I  told  him,  mighty 
quick,  that  you  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to 
let  me  do  anything  like  that,  and  that,  if  you'd  'a* 
been  here,  you'd  'a'  separated  them  dogs,  if  they'd 
a-chawed  your  arms  off ;  that  you  was  very  par 
ticular  about  such  things  ;  and  that  it  would  be  a 
pity  if  he  was  to  think  you  was  a  dog-fightin'  gen- 


192  Rudder  Grange. 

tlcman,  when  I'd  often  heard  you  say  that,  now 
you  was  fixed  an'  settled,  the  one  thing  you  would 
like  most  would  be  to  be  made  a  vestryman." 

I  sat  up  straight  in  my  chair. 

"  Pomona  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  you  didn't  tell  him 
that  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  said,  sir,  for  I  wanted  him  to 
know  what  you  really  was ;  an'  he  says,  '  Well, 
well,  I  never  knew  that.  It  might  be  a  very 
good  thing.  I'll  speak  to  some  of  the  mem 
bers  about  it.  There's  two  vacancies  now  in  our 
vestry." 

I  was  crushed ;  but  Euphemia  tried  to  put  the 
matter  into  the  brightest  light. 

"Perhaps  it  may  all  turn  out  for  the  best," 
she  said,  "and  you  may  be  elected,  and  that 
would  be  splendid.  But  it  would  be  an  awfully 
funny  thing  for  a  dog-fight  to  make  you  a  vestry 
man." 

I  could  not  talk  on  this  subject.  "  Go  on, 
Pomona,"  I  said,  trying  to  feel  resigned  to  my 
shame,  "and  tell  us  about  that  poster  on  the 
fence." 

"  I'll  be  to  that  almost  right  away,"  she  said. 
"  It  was  two  or  three  days  after  the  dog-fight  that 
I  was  down  at  the  barn,  and  happenin'  to  look 
over  to  Old  John's,  I  saw  that  tree-man  there. 
He  was  a-showin'  his  book  to  John,  and  him  and 
his  wife  and  all  the  young  ones  was  u-st.uulin1 


Rudder  Grange.  193 

there,  drinkin*  down  them  big  peaches  and  pears 
as  if  they  was  all  real.  I  know'd  he'd  come  here 
agfin,  for  them  fellers  never  gives  you  up  ;  and  I 
didn't  know  how  to  keep  him  away,  for  I  didn't 
want  to  let  the  dogs  loose  on  a  man  what,  after  all, 
didn't  want  to  do  no  more  harm  than  to  talk  the 
life  out  of  you.  So  I  just  happened  to  notice,  as  I 
came  to  the  house,  how  kind  of  desolate  every 
thing  looked,  and  I  thought  perhaps  I  might 
make  it  look  worse,  and  he  wouldn't  care  to  deal 
here.  So  I  thought  of  puttin'  up  a  poster  like  that, 
for  nobody  whose  place  was  a-goin'  to  be  sold  for 
taxes  would  be  likely  to  want  trees.  So  I  run  in 
the  house,  and  wrote  it  quick  and  put  it  up.  And 
sure  enough,  the  man  he  come  along  soon,  and 
when  he  looked  at  that  paper,  and  tried  the  gate, 
an'  looked  over  the  fence  an'  saw  the  house  all 
shut  up  an'  not  a  livin'  soul  about, — for  I  had  both 
the  dogs  in  the  house  with  me, — he  shook  his 
head  an'  walked  off,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  If  that 
man  had  fixed  his  place  up  proper  with  my  trees, 
he  wouldn't  'a'  come  to  this  !  '  An'  then,  as  I 
found  the  poster  worked  so  good,  I  thought  it 
might  keep  other  people  from  comin'  a-botherin* 
around,  and  so  I  left  it  up ;  but  I  was  a-goin'  to  be 
sure  and  take  it  down  before  you  came." 

As  it  was   now  pretty  late  in  the  afternoon,  I 
proposed  that   Pomona  should  postpone   the  rest 
of  her    narrative    until   evening.       She    said   that 
9 


194  Rudder  Grange. 

there  was  nothing  else  to  tell  that  was  very  par. 
ticular ;  and  I  did  not  feel  as  if  I  could  stand 
anything  more  just  now,  even  if  it  was  very  par 
ticular. 

When  we  were  alone,  I  said  to  Euphemia : 
"If we  ever  have  to  go  away  from  this  place 

again " 

"  But  we  wont  go  away,"  she  interrupted, 
looking  up  to  me  with  as  bright  a  face  as  she 
ever  had,  "  at  least  not  *or  a  long,  long,  long 
time  to  come.  And  I'm  sc  gA**d  you're  to  be  a  ves 
tryman." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

POMONA  TAKES  A  BRIDAL  TRIP. 

OUR  life  at  Rudder  Grange  seemed  to  be  in  no 
way  materially  changed  by  my  becoming  a  vestry 
man.  The  cow  gave  about  as  much  milk  as  be 
fore,  and  the  hens  laid  the  usual  number  of  eggs. 
Euphemia  went  to  church  with  a  little  more  of  an 
air,  perhaps,  but  as  the  wardens  were  never  absent, 
and  I  was  never,  therefore,  called  upon  to  assist  in 
taking  up  the  collection,  her  sense  of  my  position 
was  not  inordinately  manifested. 

For  a  year  or  two,  indeed,  there  was  no  radical 
change  in  anything  about  Rudder  Grange,  except 
in  Pomona.  In  her  there  was  a  change.  She 
grew  up. 

She  performed  this  feat  quite  suddenly.  She 
was  a  young  girl  when  she  first  came  to  us,  and 
we  had  never  considered  her  as  anything  else, 
when  one  evening  she  had  a  young  man  to  see  her. 
Then  we  knew  she  had  grown  up. 

We  made  no  objections  to  her  visitors, — she  had 
several,  from  time  to  time, — "  for,"  said  Euphe- 


196  Rudder  Grange. 

mia,  "suppose  my  parents  had  objected  to  your 
visits."  I  could  not  consider  the  mere  possibility 
of  anything  like  this,  and  we  gave  Pomona  all  the 
ordinary  opportunities  for  entertaining  her  visitors. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  think  we  gave  her  more  than 
the  ordinary  opportunities.  I  know  that  Euphe- 
mia  would  wait  on  herself  to  almost  any  extent, 
rather  than  call  upon  Pomona,  when  the  latter  was 
entertaining  an  evening  visitor  in  the  kitchen  or  on 
the  back  porch. 

"  Suppose  my  mother,"  she  once  remarked,  in 
answer  to  a  mild  remonstrance  from  me  in  regard 
to  a  circumstance  of  this  nature, — "suppose  my 
mother  had  rushed  into  our  presence  when  we  were 
plighting  our  vows,  and  had  told  me  to  go  down 
into  the  cellar  and  crack  ice  !  " 

It  was  of  no  use  to  talk  to  Euphemia  on  such 
subjects  ;  she  always  had  an  answer  ready. 

"You  don't  want  Pomona  to  go  off  and  be 
married,  do  you  ?  "  I  asked,  one  day  as  she  was 
putting  up  some  new  muslin  curtains  in  the  kit 
chen.  "You  seem  to  be  helping  her  to  do  this 
all  you  can,  and  yet  I  don't  know  where  on  earth 
you  will  get  another  girl  who  will  suit  you  so 
well." 

"  I  don't  know,  cither,"  replied  Euphemia,  with 
a  tack  in  her  mouth,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  her 
to  go.  But  neither  do  I  want  winter  to  come,  or 
to  have  to  wear  spectacles;  but  I  suppose  both 


Rudder  Grange.  197 

of  these  things  will  happen,  whether  I  like  it  or 
not." 

For  some  time  after  this  Pomona  had  very  little 
company,  and  we  began  to  think  that  there  was  no 
danger  of  any  present  matrimonial  engagement  on 
her  part, — a  thought  which  was  very  gratifying  to 
us,  although  we  did  not  wish  in  any  way  to  inter 
fere  with  her  prospects, — when,  one  afternoon, 
she  quietly  went  up  into  the  village  and  was  mar 
ried. 

Her  husband  was  a  tall  young  fellow,  a  son  of  a 
farmer  in  the  county,  who  had  occasionally  been 
to  see  her,  but  whom  she  must  have  frequently  met 
on  her  "  afternoons  out." 

When  Pomona  came  home  and  told  us  this  news 
we  were  certainly  well  surprised. 

"  What  on  earth  are  we  to  do  for  a  girl  ?  "  cried 
Euphemia. 

"You're  to  have  me  till  you  can  get  another 
one,"  said  Pomona  quietly.  "  I  hope  you  don't 
think  I'd  go  'way,  and  leave  you  without  any 
body." 

"  But  a  wife  ought  to  go  to  her  husband,"  said 
Euphemia,  "especially  so  recent  a  bride.  Why 
didn't  you  let  me  know  all  about  it  ?  I  would  have 
helped  to  fit  you  out.  We  would  have  given  you 
the  nicest  kind  of  a  little  wedding." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Pomona;  "you're  jus* 
good  enough.  But  I  didn't  want  to  put  you  t°  nil 


198  Rudder  Grange. 

that  trouble — right  in  preserving-time  too.  An' 
he  wanted  it  quiet,  for  he's  awful  backward  about 
shows.  An'  as  I'm  to  go  to  live  with  his  folks, — at 
least  in  a  little  house  on  the  farm, — I  might  as  well 
stay  here  as  anywhere,  even  if  I  didn't  want  to,  for 
I  can't  go  there  till  after  frost. " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  asked. 

"The  chills  and  fever,"  said  she.  "  They  have 
it  awful  down  in  that  valley.  Why,  he  had  a 
chill  while  we  was  bein'  married,  right  at  the  bridal 
altar." 

"You  don't  say  so!"  exclaimed  Euphemia. 
"  How  dreadful  !  " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Pomona.  "He  must  'a' 
forgot  it  was  his  chill-day,  and  he  didn't  take  his 
quinine,  and  so  it  come  on  him  jus'  as  he  was  a- 
promisin'  to  love  an'  pertect.  But  he  stuck  it  out, 
at  the  minister's  house,  and  walked  home  by  his- 
selfto  finish  his  chill." 

"  And  you  didn't  go  with  him  ?  "  cried  Euphe 
mia,  indignantly. 

"  He  said,  no.  It  was  better  thus.  He  felt  it 
weren't  the  right  thing  to  mingle  the  agur  with  his 
marriage  vows.  He  promised  to  take  sixteen 
grains  to-morrow,  and  so  I  came  away.  He'll  bo 
all  right  in  a  month  or  so,  an'  then  we'll  go  an' 
keep  house.  You  see  it  aint  likely  I  could  help 
him  any  bygoin'  there  an'  gettin'  it  myself." 

"  Pomona,"  said  Euphemia,  "  this  is  dreadful. 


Rudder  Grange.  199 

You  ought  to  go  and  take  a  bridal  tour  and  get 
him  rid  of  those  fearful  chills." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Pomona,  her 
face  lighting  up  wonderfully. 

Now  that  Euphemia  had  fallen  upon  this  happy 
idea,  she  never  dropped  it  until  she  had  made  all 
the  necessary  plans,  and  had  put  them  into  execu 
tion.  In  the  course  of  a  week  she  had  engaged 
another  servant,  and  had  started  Pomona  and  her 
husband  off  on  a  bridal-tour,  stipulating  nothing 
but  that  they  should  take  plenty  of  quinine  in  their 
trunk. 

It  was  about  three  weeks  after  this,  and  Euphe 
mia  and  I  were  sitting  on  our  front  steps, — I  had 
come  home  early,  and  we  had  been  potting  some 
of  the  tenderest  plants, — when  Pomona  walked  in 
at  the  gate.  She  looked  well,  and  had  on  a  very 
bright  new  dress.  Euphemia  noticed  this  the 
moment  she  came  in.  We  welcomed  her  warmly, 
for  we  felt  a  great  interest  in  this  girl,  who  had 
grown  up  in  our  family  and  under  our  care. 

"  Have  you  had  your  bridal  trip  ?  "  asked  Eu* 
phemia. 

"Oh  yes!"  said  Pomona.  "It's  all  over  an' 
done  with,  an*  we're  settled  in  our  house." 

"  Well,  sit  right  down  here  on  the  steps  and  tell 
us  all  about  it,"  said  Euphemia,  in  a  glow  of  de 
lightful  expectancy,  and  Pomona,  nothing  loth,  sat 
down  and  told  her  tale. 


2oo  Rudder  Grange. 

"  You  see,"  said  she,  untying  her  bonnet  string, 
to  give  an  easier  movement  to  her  chin,  "  we  didn't 
say  where  we  was  goin'  when  we  started  out,  for 
the  truth  was  we  didn't  know.  We  couldn't  afford 
to  take  no  big  trip,  and  yet  we  wanted  to  do  the 
thing  up  jus'  as  right  as  we  could,  seein'  as  you 
had  set  your  heart  on  it,  an'  as  we  had,  too,  for 
that  matter.  Niagery  Fall  was  what  I  wanted,  but 
he  said  that  it  cost  so  much  to  see  the  sights  there 
that  he  hadn't  money  to  spare  to  take  us  there  an' 
pay  for  all  the  sight-seein',  too.  We  might  go,  he 
said,  without  seein'  the  sights,  or,  if  there  was  any 
way  of  seein'  the  sights  without  goin',  that  might 
do,  but  he  couldn't  do  both.  So  we  give  that  up, 
and  after  thinkin'  a  good  deal,  we  agreed  to  go  to 
some  other  falls,  which  might  come  cheaper,  an' 
may-be  be  jus'  as  good  to  begin  on.  So  we 
thought  of  Passaic  Falls,  up  to  Paterson,  an'  we 
went  there,  an'  took  a  room  at  a  little  hotel,  an' 
walked  over  to  the  falls.  But  they  wasn't  no  good, 
after  all,  for  there  wasn't  no  water  runnin'  over  'em. 
There  was  rocks  andprecipicers,  an'  direful  depths, 
and  everything  for  a  good  falls,  except  water,  and 
that  was  all  bein'  used  at  the  mills.  'Well, 
Miguel,'  says  I,  '  this  is  about  as  nice  a  place  for  a 
falls  as  ever  I  see,'  but — " 

"Miguel!"  cried  Euphemia.  "Is  that  your 
iMisband's  name  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Pomona,  "  it  isn't.     His  given 


Rudder  Grange.  201 

name  is  Jonas,  but  I  hated  to  call  him  Jonas,  an* 
on  a  bridal  trip,  too.  He  might  jus'  as  well  have 
had  a  more  romantic-er  name,  if  his  parents  had 
'a'  thought  of  it.  So  I  determined  I'd  give  him  a 
better  one,  while  we  was  on  our  journey,  anyhow, 
an'  I  changed  his  name  to  Miguel,  which  was  the 
name  of  a  Spanish  count.  He  wanted  me  to  call 
him  Jiguel,  because,  he  said,  that  would  have  a 
kind  of  a  floating  smell  of  his  old  name,  but  I  didn't 
never  do  it.  Well,  neither  of  us  didn't  care  to  stay 
about  no  dry  falls,  so  we  went  back  to  the  hotel 
and  got  our  supper,  and  begun  to  wonder  what  we 
should  do  next  day.  He  said  we'd  better  put  it 
off  and  dream  about  it,  and  make  up  our  minds 
nex'  mornin',  which  I  agreed  to,  an',  that  evenin',  as 
we  was  sittin'  in  our  room  I  asked  Miguel  to  tell 
me  the  story  of  his  life.  He  said,  at  first,  it  hadn't 
none,  but  when  I  seemed  a  kinder  put  out  at  this, 
he  told  me  I  mustn't  mind,  an'  he  would  reveal  the 
whole.  So  he  told  me  this  story  : 

"  '  My  grandfather.'  said  he,  '  was  a  rich  and 
powerful  Portugee,  a-livin'  on  the  island  of  Jamaica. 
He  had  heaps  o'  slaves,  an'  owned  a  black  brigan- 
tine,  that  he  sailed  in  on  secret  voyages,  an",  when 
he  come  back,  the  decks  an'  the  gunnels  was  often 
bloody,  but  nobody  knew  why  or  wherefore.  He 
was  a  big  man  with  black  hair  an'  very  violent. 
He  could  never  have  kept  no  help,  if  he  hadn't 
owned  'em,  but  he  was  so  rich,  that  people  re' 
9* 


2O2  Rudder  Grange. 

spectcd  him,  in  spite  of  all  his  crimes.  My  grand 
mother  was  a  native  o'  the  Isle  o'  Wight.  She 
was  a  frail  an'  tender  woman,  with  yeller  hair,  and 
'deep  blue  eyes,  an'  gentle,  an'  soft,  an'  good  to  the 
poor.  She  used  to  take  baskits  of  vittles  aroun'  to 
sick  folks,  an'  set  down  on  the  side  o'  their  beds 
an'  read  "The  Shepherd  o'  Salisbury  Plains"  to 
'em.  She  hardly  ever  speaked  above  her  breath, 
an'  always  wore  white  gowns  with  a  silk  kerchief 
a-folded  placidly  aroun'  her  neck.'  'Them  was 
awful  different  kind  o' people,'  I  says  to  him,  '  I 
wonder  how  they  ever  come  to  be  married. '  '  They 
never  was  married,'  says  he.  '  Never  married  ! ' 
I  hollers,  a-jumpin'  up  from  my  chair,  '  and  you 
sit  there  carmly  an' look  me  in  the  eye.'  'Yes,' 
says  he,  '  they  was  never  married.  They  never 
met  ;  one  was  my  mother's  father,  and  the  other 
one  my  father's  mother.  'Twas  well  they  did  not 
wed.'  '  I  should  think  so,'  said  I,  '  an'  now,  what's 
the  good  of  tellin'  me  a  thing  like  that  ?  ' 

•'  '  It's  about  as  near  the  mark  as  most  of  the 
stories  of  people's  lives,  I  reckon,'  says  he,  'an' 
besides  I'd  only  jus'  begun  it.' 

"  'Well,  I  don't  want  no  more,'  says  I,  an'  I 
jus'  tell  this  story  of  his  to  show  what  kind  of 
stories  he  told  about  that  time.  He  said  they  was 
pleasant  fictions,  but  I  told  him  that  if  he  didn't 
look  out  he'd  hear  'cm  called  by  a  good  deal  of  a 
worse  kind  of  a  name  than  that.  The  ncx'  morn  in' 


Rudder  Grange.  203 

he  asked  me  what  was  my  dream,  an'  I  told  him 
I  didn't  have  exactly  no  dream  about  it,  but  my 
idea  was  to  have  somethin'  real  romantic  for  the 
rest  of  our  bridal  days. 

"  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  what  would  you  like  ?  I  had 
a  dream,  but  it  wasn't  no  ways  romantic,  and  I'll 
jus'  fall  in  with  whatever  you'd  like  best.' 

"  '  All  right,'  says  I,  '  an'  the  most  romantic-est 
thing  that  I  can  think  of  is  for  us  to  make-believe 
for  the  rest  of  this  trip.  We  can  make-believe 
we're  anything  we  please,  an'  if  we  think  so  in 
real  earnest  it  will  be  pretty  much  the  same  thing 
as  if  we  really  was.  We  aint  likely  to  have  no 
chance  ag'in  of  being  jus'  what  we've  a  mind  to, 
an'  so  let's  try  it  now.' 

"  '  What  would  you  have  a  mind  to  be  ?  '  says  he. 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  let's  be  an  earl  an'  a  earl-ess/ 

"'Earl-ess'?  says  he,  'there's  no  such  a  per 
son.' 

"  '  Why,  yes  there  is,  of  course,'  I  says  to  him. 
'  What's  a  she-earl  if  she  isn't  a  earl-ess  ?  ' 

"  '  Well,  I  don't  know,'  says  he,  '  never  havin1 
lived  with  any  of  'em,  but  we'll  let  it  go  at  that, 
An'  how  do  you  want  to  work  the  thing  out  ?  ' 

"  '  This  way,'  says  I.     '  You,  Miguel— 
V  says  he. 


"  '  The  earl,'  says  I,  not  mindin'  his  interruption, 
'  an'  me,  your  noble  carl-ess,  will  go  to  some  good 
place  or  other  —  it  don't  matter  much  jus'  where, 


2O4  Rudder  Grange. 

and  whatever  house  we  live  in  we'll  call  our  castle, 
an"  we'll  consider  it's  got  draw-bridges  an'  port 
cullises  an'  moats  an'  secrit  dungeons,  an'  we'll  re 
member  our  noble  ancesters,  an'  behave  accorclin'. 
An'  the  people  we  meet  we  can  make  into  counts 
and  dukes  and  princes,  without  their  knowin'  any 
thing  about  it;  an'  we  can  think  our  clothes  is  silk 
an'  satin  an'  velwet,  all  covered  with  dimuns  an' 
precious  stones,  jus'  as  well  as  not.' 

"  '  Jus'  as  well,'  says  he. 

"'  An*  then,'  I  went  on,  '  we  can  go  an'  have 
chi-val-rous  adventures, — or   make  believe  we're 
havin'  'em, — an*  build  up  a  atmosphere  of  roman 
ticness  aroun'  us  that  '11  carry  us  back ' 

"  'To  ole  Virginny,'  says  he. 

"  '  No,'  says  I,  '  for  thousands  of  years,  or  at 
least  enough  back  for  the  times  of  tournaments  and 
chi  rtf/-ry.' 

"  '  An'  so  your  idea  is  that  we  make  believe  all 
these  things,  an'  don't  pay  for  none  of  'em,  is  it  ? ' 
says  he. 

"  '  Yes,'  says  I ;  '  an'  you,  Miguel ' 

"  '  Jiguel,'  says  he. 

"  '  Can  ask  me,  if  you  don't  know  what  chi- 
2V7/-ric  or  romantic  thing  you  ought  to  do  or  to 
say  so  as  to  feel  yourself  truly  an*  reely  a  earl, 
for  I've  read  a  lot  about  these  people,  an'  know 
jus'  what  ought  to  be  did.' 

"  Well,  he  set  himself  down  an*  thought  a  while. 


Rudder  Grange.  205 

an'  then  he  says,  '  All  right.  We'll  do  that,  an' 
•we'll  begin  to-morrow  mornin',  for  I've  got  a  little 
business  to  do  in  the  city  which  wouldn't  be  ex 
actly  the  right  thing  for  me  to  stoop  to  after  I'm  a 
earl,  so  I'll  go  in  an'  do  it  while  I'm  a  common 
person,  an'  come  back  this  afternoon,  an'  you  can 
walk  about  an'  look  at  the  dry  falls,  an'  amuse 
yourself  gen'rally,  till  I  come  back.' 

"'All  right,'  says  I,  an'  off  he  goes. 

"  He  come  back  afore  dark,  an'  the  nex'  mornin' 
we  got  ready  to  start  off. 

"  '  Have  you  any  particular  place  to  go  ?  '  says 
he. 

"  '  No,'  says  I,  '  one  place  is  as  likely  to  be  as 
good  as  another  for  our  style  o'  thing.  If  it  don't 
suit,  we  can  imagine  it  does.' 

"  '  That'll  do,'  says  he,  an'  we  had  our  trunk 
sent  to  the  station,  and  walked  ourselves.  When 
we  got  there,  he  says  to  me, 

"  Which  number  will  you  have,  five  or  seven  ? ' 

"  '  Either  one  will  suit  me,  Earl  Miguel,' 
says  I. 

"  '  Jiguel,'  says  he,  '  an'  we'll  make  it  seven. 
An'  now  I'll  go  an'  look  at  the  time-table,  an'  we'll 
buy  tickets  for  the  seventh  station  from  here. 
The  seventh  station,'  says  he,  comin'  back,  '  is 
Pokus.  We'll  go  to  Pokus.' 

"  So  when  the  train  come  we  got  in,  an'  got  out 
at  Pokus.  It  was  a  pretty  sort  of  a  place,  out  in 


206  Rudder  Grange. 

the  country,  with  the  houses  scattered  a  long  ways 
apart,  like  stingy  chicken-feed. 

"  '  Let's  walk  down  this  road,'  says  he,  '  till  we 
come  to  a  good  house  for  a  castle,  an'  then  we  can 
ask  'cm  to  take  us  to  board,  an'  if  they  wont  do  it 
we'll  go  to  the  next,  an'  so  on.' 

"  '  All  right,'  says  I,  glad  enough  to  see  how  pat 
he  entered  into  the  thing. 

'^We  walked  a  good  ways,  an'  passed  some  lit 
tle  houses  that  neither  of  us  thought  would  do, 
without  more  imaginin'  than  would  pay,  till  we 
came  to  a  pretty  big  house  near  the  river,  which 
struck  our  fancy  in  a  minute.  It  was  a  stone 
house,  an'  it  had  trees  aroun'  it,  there  was  a 
garden  with  a  wall,  an'  things  seemed  to  suit  first- 
rate,  so  we  made  up  our  minds  right  off  that  we'd 
try  this  place. 

"  '  You  wait  here  under  this  tree,'  says  he,  '  an' 
I'll  go  an'  ask  'em  if  they'll  take  us  to  board  for  a 
while.' 

"So  I  waits,  an' he  goes  up  to  the  gate,  an' 
pretty  soon  he  comes  out  an'  says, '  All  right,  they'll 
take  us,  an'  they'll  send  a  man  with  a  wheelbarrer 
to  the  station  for  our  trunk.'  So  in  we  goes.  The 
man  was  a  country-like  lookin'  man,  an'  his  wife 
was  a  very  pleasant  woman.  The  house  wasn't 
furnished  very  fine,  but  we  didn't  care  for  that, 
an'  they  gave  us  a  big  room  that  had  rafters 
instid  of  a  ceilin',  an*  a  big  fire-place,  an'  that,  I 


Rudder  Grange.  207 

said,  was  jus*  exac'ly  what  we  wanted.  The  room 
was  almos'  like  a  donjon  itself,  which  he  said  he 
reckoned  had  once  been  a  kitchin,  but  I  told  him 
that  a  earl  hadn't  nothin'  to  do  with  kitchins,  an7 
that  this  was  a  tapestry  chamber,  an'  I'd  te.ll  him 
all  about  the  strange  riggers  on  the  embroidered 
hangin's,  when  the  shadders  begun  to  fall. 

"  It  rained  a  little  that  afternoon,  an'  we  stayed 
in  our  room,  an'  hung  our  clothes  an'  things  about 
on  nails  an'  hooks,  an'  made  believe  they  was 
armor  an'  ancient  trophies  an'  portraits  of  a  long 
line  of  ancesters.  I  did  most  of  the  make-believin' ; 
but  he  agreed  to  ev'rything.  The  man  who  kep' 
the  house's  wife  brought  us  our  supper  about  dark, 
because  she  said  she  thought  we  might  like  to  have 
it  together  cozy,  an'  so  we  did,  an'  was  glad  enough 
of  it ;  an'  after  supper  we  sat  before  the  fire-place, 
where  we  made-believe  the  flames  was  a-roarin' 
an'  cracklin'  an'  a-lightin*  up  the  bright  places  on 
the  armor  a-hangin'  aroun',  while  the  storm — 
which  we  made-believe — was  a-ragin'  an'  whirlin' 
outside.  I  told  him  a  long  story  about  a  lord  an' 
a  lady,  which  was  two  or  three  stories  I  had  read, 
run  together,  an'  we  had  a  splendid  time.  It  all 
seemed  real  real  to  me." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

IN    WHICH  TWO    NEW    FRIENDS    DISPORT    THEM 
SELVES. 

"THE  ncx*  mornin*  was  fine  an'  nice,"  con 
tinued  Pomona,  "  an'  after  our  breakfast  had  been 
brought  to  us,  we  went  out  in  the  grounds  :o  take 
a  walk.  There  was  lots  of  trees  back  of  the 
house,  with  walks  among  'em,  an'  altogether  it  was 
so  ole-timcy  an'  castleish  that  I  was  as  happy  as  a 
lark. 

"  '  Come  along,  Earl  Miguel,'  I  says  ;  '  let  us 
tread  a  measure  'neath  these  mantlin'  trees.' 

"'All  right,'  says  he.  '  Your*  Jiguel  attends 
you.  An'  what  might  our  noble  second  name  be  ? 
What  is  we  earl  an'  earl-ess  of?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  anything,'  says  I.  '  Let's  take  any  name 
at  random.' 

"  '  All  right,'  says  he.  '  Let  it  be  random.  Earl 
an'  Earl-ess  Random.  Come  along.' 

"  So  we  walks  about,  I  feclin'  mighty  noble  an' 


Rudder  Grange.  209 

springy,   an'   afore  long    we    sees  another  couple 
a-walkin'  about  under  the  trees. 

"  '  Who's  them  ?'  says  I. 

"  '  Don't  know,'  says  he,  '  but  I  expect  they're 
some  o'  the  other  boarders.  The  man  said  he 
had  other  boarders  when  I  spoke  to  him  about 
takin'  us.' 

"  '  Let's  make-believe  they're  a  count  an'  count 
ess,'  says  I.  '  Count  an'  Countess  of— 

11  '  Milwaukee,'  says  he. 

"  I  didn't  think  much  of  this  for  a  noble  name, 
but  still  it  would  do  well  enough,  an'  so  we  called 
'em  the  Count  an'  Countess  of  Milwaukee,  an'  we 
kep'  on  a  meanderin'.  Pretty  soon  he  gets  tired 
an'  says  he  was  agoin'  back  to  the  house  to  have  a 
smoke  because  he  thought  it  was  time  to  have  a 
little  fun  which  weren't  all  imaginations,  an'  I  says 
to  him  to  go  along,  but  it  would  be  the  hardest 
thing  in  this  world  for  me  to  imagine  any  fun  in 
smokin'.  He  laughed  an'  went  back,  while  I 
walked  on,  a-makin'-believe  a  page,  in  blue 
puffed  breeches,  was  a-holdin'  up  my  train,  which 
was  of  light-green  velvet  trimmed  with  silver  lace. 
Pretty  soon,  turnin'  a  little  corner,  I  meets  the 
Count  and  Countess  of  Milwaukee.  She  was  a 
small  lady,  dressed  in  black,  an'  he  was  a  big  fat 
man  about  fifty  years  old,  with  a  grayish  beard. 
They  both  wore  little  straw  hats,  exac'ly  alike,  an' 
had  on  green  carpet-slippers. 


2io  Rudder  Grange. 

"  They  stops  when  they  sees  me,  an1  the  lady 
she  bows  and  says  '  good-mornin','  an'  then  she 
smiles,  very  pleasant,  an'  asks  if  I  was  a-livin'  here, 
an'  when  I  said  I  was,  she  says  she  was  too,  for 
the  present,  an'  what  was  my  name.  I  had  half  a 
mind  to  say  the  Earl-ess  Random,  but  she  was  so 
pleasant  and  sociable  that  I  didn't  like  to  seem  to 
be  makin'  fun,  an'  so  I  said  I  was  Mrs.  De  Hender 
son. 

"  '  An'  I,'  says  she,  '  am  Mrs.  General  Andrew 
Jackson,  widow  of  the  ex-President  of  the  United 
States.  I  am  staying  here  on  business  connected 
with  the  United  States  Bank.  This  is  my  brother,' 
says  she,  pointin"  to  the  big  man. 

"  '  How  d'ye  do  ?  '  says  he,  a-puttin'  his  hands 
together,  turnin'  his  toes  out  an'  makin'  a  funny 
little  bow.  '  I  am  General  Tom  Thumb,'  he  says 
in  a  deep,  gruff  voice,  '  an'  I've  been  before  all  the 
crown-ed  heads  of  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  America 
an'  Australia, — all  a's  but  one, — an'  I'm  waitin' 
here  for  a  team  of  four  little  milk-white  oxen, 
no  bigger  than  tall  cats,  which  is  to  be  hitched 
to  a  little  hay-wagon,  which  I  am  to  ride  in, 
with  a  little  pitch-fork  an'  real  farmer's  clothes, 
only  small.  This  will  come  to-morrow,  when 
I  will  pay  for  it  an'  ride  away  to  exhibit.  It 
may  be  here  now,  an'  I  will  go  an'  see.  Good- 

"  '  Good-bye,  likewise,'  says  the  lady.      '  I  hope 


Rudder  Grange.  211 

you'll  have  all  you're  thinkin'  you're  bavin',  an' 
more  too,  but  less  if  you'd  like  it.  Farewell.'  An' 
away  they  goes. 

"  Well,  you  may  be  sure,  I  stood  there  amazed 
enough,  an'  mad  too  when  I  heard  her  talk  about 
my  bein'  all  I  was  a-thinkin'  I  was.  I  was  sure 
my  husband — scarce  two  weeks  old,  a  husband — 
had  told  all.  It  was  too  bad.  I  wished  I  had  jus' 
said  I  was  the  Earl-ess  of  Random  an'  brassed  it 
out. 

"  I  rushed  back  an'  foun'  him  smokin*  a  pipe  on 
a  back  porch.  I  charged  him  with  his  perfidy,  but 
he  vowed  so  earnest  that  he  had  not  told  these 
people  of  our  fancies,  or  ever  had  spoke  to  'em, 
that  I  had  to  believe  him. 

"  '  I  expec','  says  he,  '  that  they're  jus'  makin'- 
believe — as  we  are.  There  aint  no  patent  on  make- 
believes.' 

"  This  didn't  satisfy  me,  an'  as  he  seemed  to  be 
so  careless  about  it  I  walked  away,  an'  left  him  to 
his  pipe.  I  determined  to  go  take  a  walk  along 
some  of  the  country  roads  an*  think  this  thing 
over  for  myself.  I  went  aroun'  to  the  front  gate, 
where  the  woman  of  the  house  was  a-standin* 
talkin'  to  somebody,  an'  I  jus'  bowed  to  her,  for 
I  didn't  feel  like  sayin'  anything,  an'  walked  past 
her. 

"  '  Hello  ! '  said  she,  jumpin'  in  front  of  me  an' 
shuttin'  the  gate.  '  You  can't  go  out  here.  If  you 


212  Rudder  Grange. 

want  to  walk  you  can  walk  about  in  the  grounds. 
There's  lots  of  shady  paths.' 

"  '  Can't  go  out ! '  says  I.  '  Can't  go  out !  What 
do  you  mean  by  that  ?  ' 

"  '  I  mean  jus'  what  I  say,'  said  she,  an'  she 
locked  the  gate. 

"  I  was  so  mad  that  I  could  have  pushed  her 
over  an'  broke  the  gate,  but  I  thought  that  if  there 
was  anything  of  that  kind  to  do  I  had  a  husband 
whose  business  it  was  to  attend  to  it,  an'  so  I  runs 
aroun'  to  him  to  tell  him.  He  had  gone  in,  but  I 
met  Mrs.  Jackson  an'  her  brother. 

"  '  What's  the  matter? '  said  she,  seein'  what  a 
hurry  I  was  in. 

"  '  That  woman  at  the  gate,'  I  said,  almost 
chokin'  as  I  spoke,  '  wont  let  me  out.' 

" '  She  wont  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Jackson.  '  Well,  that's 
a  way  she  has.  Four  times  the  Bank  of  the 
United  States  has  closed  its  doors  before  I  was 
able  to  get  there,  on  account  of  that  woman's  ob 
stinacy  about  the  gate.  Indeed,  I  have  not  been 
to  the  Bank  at  all  yet,  for  of  course  it  is  of  no  use 
to  go  after  banking  hours.' 

"'An'  I  believe,  too,'  said  her  brother  in  his 
heavy  voice,  '  that  she  lias  kept  out  my  team  of 
little  oxen.  Otherwise  it  would  be  here  now.' 

"  I  couldn't  stand  any  more  of  this  an'  ran  into 
our  room  where  my  husband  was.  When  I  told 
him  what  had  happened,  he  was  real  sorry. 


Rudder  Grange  213 

"  '  I  didn't  know  you  thought  of  going  out/  he 
said,  '  or  I  would  have  told  you  all  about  it.  An' 
now  sit  down  an'  quiet  yourself,  an'  I'll  tell  you 
jus'  how  things  is.'  So  down  we  sits,  an'  says  he, 
jus'  as  carm  as  a  summer  cloud,  '  My  dear,  this  is 
a  lunertic  asylum.  Now,  don't  jump,'  he  says  ;  '  I 
didn't  bring  you  here,  because  I  thought  you  was 
crazy,  but  because  I  wanted  you  to  see  what  kind 
of  people  they  was  who  imagined  themselves  earls 
and  earl-esses,  an'  all  that  sort  o'  thing,  an'  to  have 
an  idea  how  the  thing  worked  after  you'd  been 
doing  it  a  good  while  an'  had  got  used  to  it.  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing,  while  I  was  Earl 
Jiguel  and  you  was  a  noble  earl-ess,  to  come  to  a 
place  where  people  acted  that  way.  I  knowed  you 
had  read  lots  o'  books  about  knights  and  princes 
an'  bloody  towers,  an'  that  you  knowed  all  about 
them  things,  but  I  didn't  suppose  you  did  know 
how  them  same  things  looked  in  these  days,  an'  a 
lunertic  asylum  was  the  only  place  where  you  could 
see  'em.  So  I  went  to  a  doctor  I  knowed,'  he 
says,  '  an'  got  a  certificate  from  him  to  this  private 
institution,  where  we  could  stay  for  a  while  an'  get 
posted  on  romantics.' 

"'Then,'  says  I,  'the  upshot  was  that  you 
wanted  to  teach  a  lesson.' 

"  'Jus'  that,'  says  he. 

"'All  right/  says  I  ;  '  it's  teached.  An'  now 
let's  get  out  of  this  as  quick  as  we  kin.' 


214  Rudder  Grange. 

"  '  That'll  suit  me,'  he  says,  '  an'  we'll  leave  by 
the  noon  train.  I'll  go  an'  see  about  the  trunk 
bein'  sent  down.' 

41  So  off  he  went  to  see  the  man  who  kept  the 
house,  while  I  falls  to  packin'  up  the  trunk  as  fast 
as  I  could." 

"  Weren't  you  dreadfully  angry  at  him  ?  "  asked 
Euphemia,  who,  having  a  romantic  streak  in  her 
own  composition,  did  not  sympathize  altogether 
with  this  heroic  remedy  for  Pomona's  disease. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Pomona,  "  not  long. 
When  I  thought  of  Mrs.  General  Jackson  and 
Tom  Thumb,  I  couldn't  help  thinkin'  that  I  must 
have  looked  pretty  much  the  same  to  my  husband, 
who,  I  knowed  now,  had  only  been  makin'-believe 
to  make-believe.  An'  besides,  I  couldn't  be 
angry  very  long  for  laughin',  for  when  he  come 
back  in  a  minute,  as  mad  as  a  March  hare,  an' 
said  they  wouldn't  let  me  out  nor  him  nuther,  I 
fell  to  laughin'  ready  to  crack  my  sides. 

"  '  They  say,'  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak 
straight,  '  that  we  can't  go  out  without  another 
certificate  from  the  doctor.  I  told  'em  I'd  go  my 
self  an*  see  him  about  it  but  they  said  no,  I 
couldn't,  for  if  they  did  that  way  everybody  who 
ever  was  sent  here  would  be  goin'  out  the  next 
day  to  see  about  leavin'.  I  didn't  want  to  make 
no  fuss,  so  I  told  them  I'd  write  a  letter  to  the 
doctor  and  tell  him  to  send  an  order  that  would 


Rudder  Grange  215 

soon  show  them  whether  we  could  go  out  or  not. 
They  said  that  would  be  the  best  thing  to  do,  an' 
so  I'm  goin'  to  write  it  this  minute,' — which  he 
did. 

"'How  long  will  we  have  to  wait?'  says  I, 
when  the  letter  was  done. 

"  'Well,'  says  he,  '  the  doctor  can't  get  this  be 
fore  to-morrow  mornin',  an'  even  if  he  answers 
right  away,  we  won't  get  our  order  to  go  out  until 
the  next  day.  So  we'll  jus'  have  to  grin  an'  bear 
it  for  a  day  an'  a  half.' 

"  '  This  is  a  lively  old  bridal-trip,'  said  I, — '  dry 
falls  an'  a  lunertic  asylum.' 

"  '  We'll  try  to  make  the  rest  of  it  better,'  said 
he. 

"But  the  next  day  wasn't  no  better.  We  staid 
in  our  room  all  day,  for  we  didn't  care  to  meet 
Mrs.  Jackson  an'  her  crazy  brother,  an'  I'm  sure 
we  didn't  want  to  see  the  mean  creatures  who  kept 
the  house.  We  knew  well  enough  that  they  only 
wanted  us  to  stay  so  that  they  could  get  more 
board-money  out  of  us." 

"  I  should  have  broken  out,"  cried  Euphemia.1 
"  I  would  never  have  staid  an  hour  in  that  place,' 
after  I  found  out  what  it  was,  especially  pn  a 
bridal  trip." 

"If  we'd  done  that,"  said  Pomona,  "they'd 
have  got  men  after  us,  an'  then  everybody  would 
Ifcvc  thought  we  was  real  crazy.  We  made  up 


216  RuJdcr  67,; 

our  minds  to  wait  for  the  doctor's  letter,  but  it 
t  much  fun.  An'  I  didn't  tel/  no  romantic 
stories  to  fill  up  the  time.  We  sat  down  an'  be 
haved  like  the  commonest  kind  o'  people.  You 
never  saw  anybody  sicker  of  romantics  than  I  was 
when  I  thought  of  them  two  loons  that  called 
themselves  Mrs.  Andrew  Jackson  and  General 
Tom  Thumb.  I  dropped  Miguel  altogether,  an' 
he  dropped  Jiguel,  which  was  a  relief  to  me,  an'  I 
took  strong  to  Jonas,  even  callin'  him  Jone,  which 
I  consider  a  good  deal  uglier  an'  commoner  even 
than  Jonas.  He  didn't  like  this  much,  but  said 
that  if  it  would  help  me  out  of  the  Miguel,  he 
didn't  care. 

"  Well,  on  the  mornin'  of  the  next  day  I  went 
into  the  little  front  room  that  they  called  the  office, 
to  see  if  there  was  a  letter  for  us  yet,  an'  there 
wasn't  nobody  there  to  ask.  But  I  saw  a  pile 
of  letters  under  a  weight  on  the  table,  an'  I  jus' 
looked  at  these  to  see  if  one  of  'em  was  for  us, 
an'  if  there  wasn't  the  very  letter  Jone  had  written 
to  the  doctor  !  They'd  never  sent  it !  I  rushes 
back  to  Jone  an'  tells  him,  an'  he  jus*  set  an'  looked 
at  me  without  sayin'  a  word.  I  didn't  wonder  he 
couldn't  speak. 

"  '  I'll  go  an'  let  them  people  know  what  I  think 
of 'em,'  says  I. 

"  Don't  do  that,'  said  Jone,  catchin'  me  by  the 
sleeve.  '  It  wont  do  no  good.  Leave  the  letter 


Rudder  Grange.  217 

there,  an'  don't  say  nothin'  about  it.  We'll  stay 
here  till  afternoon  quite  quiet,  an'  then  we'll  go 
away.  That  garden  wall  isn't  high.' 

"  '  An'  how  about  the  trunk  ?  '  says  I. 

"  '  Oh,  we'll  take  a  few  things  in  our  pockets, 
an'  lock  up  the  trunk,  an'  ask  the  doctor  to  send 
for  it  when  we  get  to  the  city.' 

"  'All  right/  says  I.  An'  we  went  to  work  to 
get  ready  to  leave. 

"  About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  it 
was  a  nice  time  to  take  a  walk  under  the  trees,  we 
meandered  quietly  down  to  a  corner  of  the  back 
wall,  where  Jone  thought  it  would  be  rather  con 
venient  to  get  over.  He  hunted  up  a  short  piece 
of  board  which  he  leaned  up  ag'in  the  wall,  an' 
then  he  put  his  foot  on  the  top  of  that  an'  got 
hold  of  the  top  of  the  wall  an'  climbed  up,  as 
easy  as  nuthin'.  Then  he  reached  down  to  help 
me  step  onto  the  board.  But  jus'  as  he  was  a- 
goin'  to  take  me  by  the  hand  :  '  Hello  ! '  says 
he.  *  Look  a-there  ! '  An'  I  turned  round  an' 
looked,  an'  if  there  wasn't  Mrs.  Andrew  Jack 
son  an'  General  Tom  Thumb  a-walkin'  down  the 
path. 

"  '  What  shall  we  do  ?  '  says  I. 

"  '  Come  along,'  says  he.  '  We  aint  a-goin'  to 
stop  for  them.  Get  up,  all  the  same.' 

"  I  tried  to  get  up  as  he  said,  but  it  wasn't  so 
easy  for  me  on  account  of  my  not  bein'  such  a 


2i8  Rudder  Grange. 

high  stepper  as  Jone,  an'  I  was  a  good  while  a- 
gettin'  a  good  footin'  on  the  board. 

"  Mrs.  Jackson  an'  the  General,  they  came  right 
up  to  us  an'  set  down  on  a  bench  which  was  fas 
tened  between  two  trees  near  the  wall.  An'  there 
they  set,  a-lookin'  steady  at  us  with  their  four 
little  eyes,  like  four  empty  thimbles. 

"  '  You  appear  to  be  goin'  away,'  says  Mrs. 
Jackson. 

"  '  Yes,'  says  Jone  from  the  top  of  the  wall. 
'  We're  a-goin'  to  take  a  slight  stroll  outside,  this 
salu-brious  evenin'.' 

"  '  Do  you  think,'  says  she,  '  that  the  United 
States  Bank  would  be  open  this  time  of  day  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh  no,'  says  Jone,  '  the  banks  all  close 
at  three  o'clock.  It's  a  good  deal  after  that 
now.' 

"  '  But  if  I  told  the  officers  who  I  was,  wouldn't 
that  make  a  difference  ?  '  says  she.  'Wouldn't 
they  go  down  an'  open  the  bank  ?  ' 

"  '  Not  much,'  says  Jone,  givin'  a  pull  which 
brought  me  right  up  to  the  top  o'  the  wall  an'  al 
most  clean  down  the  other  side,  with  one  jerk.  '  I 
never  knowed  no  officers  that  would  do  that. 
But,'  says  he,  a  kind  o'  shuttin'  his  eyes  so  that 
she  shouldn't  see  he  was  lyin',  '  we'll  talk  about 
that  when  we  come  back.' 

"  '  If  you  see  that  team  of  little  oxen,'  says  the 
big  man,  '  send  'em  'round  to  the  front  gate.' 


Rudder  Grange.  219 

"  '  All  right,'  says  Jone ;  an*  he  let  me  down 
the  outside  of  the  wall  as  if  I  had  been  a  bag  o' 
horse-feed. 

"  *  But  if  the  bank  isn't  open  you  can't  pay  fa* 
it  when  it  does  come,'  we  heard  the  old  lady  a-say- 
in'  as  we  hurried  off. 

"We  didn't  lose  no  time  agoin'  down  to  that 
station,  an'  it's  lucky  we  didn't,  for  a  train  for  the 
city  was  comin'  jus'  as  we  got  there,  an'  we 
jumped  aboard  without  havin*  no  time  to  buy 
tickets.  There  wasn't  many  people  in  our  car,  an' 
we  got  a  seat  together. 

" '  Now  then,'  says  Jone,  as  the  cars  went  a- 
buzzin'  along,  '  I  feel  as  if  I  was  really  on  a  bri 
dal-trip,  which  I  mus'  say  I  didn't  at  that  there 
asylum.' 

"  An'  then  I  said  :  *  I  should  think  not,'  an'  we 
both  bust  out  a-laughin',  as  well  we  might,  feelin* 
sich  a  change  of  surroundin's. 

"  *  Do  you  think,'  says  somebody  behind  us, 
when  we'd  got  through  laughin',  '  that  if  I  was  to 
send  a  boy  up  to  the  cashier  he  would  either  come 
down  or  send  me  the  key  of  the  bank  ? ' 

"  We  both  turned  aroun'  as  quick  as  lightnin', 
an'  if  there  wasn't  them  two  luncrtics  in  the  seat 
behind  us  ! 

"It  nearly  took  our  breaths  away  to  see  them 
settin'  there,  staring  at  us  with  their  thimble  cy<'S 
an'  a-wearin'  their  little  straw  hats,  both  alike. 


Rudder  Grange. 

"  '  How  on  the  livin'  earth  did  you  two  get 
here  ? '  says  I,  as  soon  as  I  could  speak. 

"  '  Oh,  we  come  by  the  same  way  you  come — 
by  the  tcm-per-ary  stairs,'  says  Mrs.  Jackson. 
'  We  thought  if  it  was  too  late  to  draw  any  money 
to-night,  it  might  be  well  to  be  on  hand  bright  an' 
early  in  the  mornin'.  An'  so  we  follered  you 
two,  as  close  as  we  could,  because  we  knew  you 
could  take  us  right  to  the  very  bank  doors,  an' 
we  didn't  know  the  way  ourselves,  not  never 
havin*  had  no  occasion  to  attend  to  nothin'  of  this 
kind  before.' 

"Jone  an'  I  looked  at  each  other,  but  we 
didn't  speak  for  a  minute. 

"  '  Then,'  says  I,  '  here's  a  pretty  kittle  o'  fish.' 

"  '  I  should  kinder  say  so,'  says  Jone.  '  We've 
got  these  here  two  lunertics  on  our  hands,  sure 
enough,  for  there  ain't  no  train  back  to  Pokus  to 
night,  an'  I  wouldn't  go  back  with  'em  if  there 
was.  We  must  keep  an  eye  on  'em  till  we  can  see 
the  doctor  to-morrow.' 

"  '  I  suppose  we  must,'  said  I,  '  but  this  don't 
seem  as  much  like  a  bridal-trip  as  it  did  a  while  ago.' 

"  '  You're  right  there,'  says  Jone. 

"When  the  conductor  came  along  we  had  to 
pay  the  fare  of  them  two  lunertics,  besides  our 
own,  for  neither  of  'em  had  a  cent  about  'em. 
When  we  got  to  town  we  went  to  a  smallish  hotel, 
near  the  ferry,  where  Jone  knowed  the  man  whu 


Rudder  Grange.  221 

kep'  it,  who  wouldn't  bother  about  none  of  us 
havin'  a  scrap  of  baggage,  knowin'  he'd  get  his 
money  all  the  same,  out  of  either  Jone  or  his  father. 
The  General  an'  his  sister  looked  a  kind  o'  funny 
in  their  little  straw  hats  an'  green  carpet-slippers, 
an*  the  clerk  didn't  know  whether  he  hadn't  forgot 
how  to  read  writin'  when  the  big  man  put  down 
the  names  of  General  Tom  Thumb  and  Mrs.  ex- 
President  Andrew  Jackson,  which  he  wasn't  ex- 
President  anyway,  bein'  dead  ;  but  Jone  he  whis 
pered  they  was  travelin'  under  nommys  dess  plum- 
mys  (I  told  him  to  say  that),  an'  he  would  fix  it  all 
right  in  the  mornin'.  An'  then  we  got  some  sup 
per,  which  it  took  them  two  lunertics  a  long  time 
to  eat,  for  they  was  all  the  time  forgettin'  what 
particular  kind  o'  business  they  was  about,  an' 
then  we  was  showed  to  our  rooms.  They  had 
two  rooms  right  across  the  hall  from  ours.  We 
hadn't  been  inside  our  room  five  minutes  before 
Mrs.  General  Jackson  come  a-knockin'  at  the 
door. 

"'Look  a-here/  she  says  to  me,  *  there's  a 
unforeseen  contingency  in  my  room.  An'  it 
smells.' 

"  So  I  went  right  in,  an'  sure  enough  it  did 
smell,  for  she  had  turned  on  all  the  gases,  besides 
the  one  that  was  lighted. 

•'*  '  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?  *  says  I,  a-turmn* 
them  off  as  fast  as  I  could. 


222  Rudder    Gr>: 

41  '  I'd  like  to  know  what  they're  made  for,'  says 
she,  '  if  they  isn't  to  be  turned  on.' 

"  When  I  told  Jone  about  this  he  looked  real 
serious,  an'  jus'  then  a  waiter  came  upstairs  an' 
went  into  the  big  man's  room.  In  a  minute  he 
come  out  an'  says  to  Jone  an'  me,  a-grinnin'  : 

"  '  We  can't  suit  him  no  better  in  this  house.' 

"  '  What  does  he  want  ?  '  asks  Jone. 

"  '  Why,  he  wants  a  smaller  bed,'  says  the 
waiter.  '  He  says  he  can't  sleep  in  a  bed  as  big  as 
that,  an'  we  haven't  none  smaller  in  this  house, 
which  he  couldn't  get  into  if  we  had,  in  my  opinion,' 
says  he. 

"  '  All  right,'  says  Jone.  '  Jus'  you  go  down 
stairs,  an'  I'll  fix  him.'  So  the  man  goes  off,  still 
a-grinnin'.  '  I  tell  you  what  it  is,'  says  Jone,  '  it 
wont  do  to  let  them  two  luncrtics  have  rooms  to 
themselves.  They'll  set  this  house  afire  or  turn  it 
upside  down  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  if  they 
has.  There's  nuthin'  to  be  done  but  for  you  to 
sleep  with  the  woman  an*  foi  me  to  sleep  with 
the  man,  an'  to  keep  'em  from  cuttin'  up  till 
mornin'.' 

"  So  Jone  he  went  into  the  room  where  General 
Tom  Thumb  was  a-settin'  with  his  hat  on,  a-lookin' 
doleful  at  the  bed,  an'  says  he  : 

"  '  What's  the  matter  with  the  bed  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  it's  too  large  entirely,'  says  the  General. 
'  It  wouldn't  do  for  me  to  sleep  in  a  bed  like 


Rudder  Grange.  223 

that.      It  would  ruin  my  character  as  a  genuine 
Thumb.' 

"  'Well,'  says  Jone,  '  it's  nearly  two  times  too 
big  for  you,  but  if  you  an'  me  was  both  to  sleep  in 
it,  it  would  be  about  right,  wouldn't  it  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh  yes,'  says  the  General.  An'  he  takes  off 
his  hat,  an'  Jone  says  good-night  to  me  an'  shuts 
the  door.  Our  room  was  better  than  Mrs.  Gen 
eral  Jackson's,  so  I  takes  her  in  there,  an'  the  fust 
thing  she  does  is  to  turn  on  all  the  gases. 

"  '  Stop  that !  '  I  hollers.  '  If  you  do  that 
again, — I'll — I'll  break  the  United  States  Bank  to 
morrow  ! ' 

'"  How'll  you  do  that  ?  '  says  she. 

"  '  I'll  draw  out  all  my  capital,'  says  I. 

"  '  I  hope  really  you  wont,'  says  she,  '  till  I've 
been  there,'  an'  she  leans  out  of  the  open  winder 
to  look  into  the  street,  but  while  she  was  a-lookin' 
out  I  see  her  left  hand  a-creepin'  up  to  the  gas  L 
the  winder,  that  wasn't  lighted.  I  felt  mad  enough 
to  take  her  by  the  feet  an'  pitch  her  out,  as  you  an' 
the  boarder,"  said  Pomona,  turning  to  me, 
"  h'isted  me  out  of  the  canal-boat  winder." 

This,  by  the  way,  was  the  first  intimation  we  had 
had  that  Pomona  knew  how  she  came  to  fall  out 
of  that  window. 

"  But  I  didn't  do  it,"  she  continued,  "  for  there 
wasn't  no  soft  water  underneath  for  her  to  fall 
into.  After  we  went  to  bed  I  kcp'  awake  for  a 


224  Rudder  Grange. 

long  time,  bcin'  afraid  she'd  get  up  in  the  night 
an*  turn  on  all  the  gases  and  smother  me  alive. 
But  I  fell  asleep  at  last,  an'  when  I  woke  up, 
early  in  the  mornin',  the  first  thing  I  did  was 
to  fed  (or  that  lunertic.  But  she  was  gone  !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN    WHICH  AN    OLD    FRIEND    APPEARS    AND  THE 
BRIDAL  TRIP  TAKES  A   FRESH  START. 

•*  GONE  ?  "  cried  Euphemia,  who,  with  myself, 
had  been  listening  most  intently  to  Pomona's 
story. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Pomona,  "  she  was  gone. 
I  give  one  jump  out  of  bed  and  felt  the  gases,  but 
they  was  all  right.  But  she  was  gone,  an*  her 
clothes  was  gone.  I  dressed,  as  pale  as  death,  I 
do  expect,  an'  hurried  to  Jone's  room,  an'  he  an' 
me  an'  the  big  man  was  all  ready  in  no  time  to  go 
an'  look  for  her.  General  Tom  Thumb  didn't  seem 
very  anxious,  but  we  made  him  hurry  up  an'  come 
along  with  us.  We  couldn't  afford  to  leave  him 
nowheres.  The  clerk  down-stairs — a  different  one 
from  the  chap  who  was  there  the  night  before- 
said  that  a  middle-aged,  elderly  lady  came  down 
about  an  hour  before  an'  asked  him  to  tell  her  the 
way  to  the  United  States  Bank,  an'  when  he  told 
her  he  didn't  know  of  any  such  bank,  she  jus' 
stared  at  him,  an'  wanted  to  know  what  he  was  put 

10* 


22<r<  Rudder  Grange. 

there  for.  So  he  didn't  have  no  more  to  say  to 
her,  an'  she  went  out,  an'  he  didn't  take  no  notice 
which  way  she  went.  We  had  the  same  opinion 
about  him  that  Mrs.  Jackson  had,  but  we  didn't 
stop  to  tell  him  so.  We  hunted  up  an'  down  the 
streets  for  an  hour  or  more ;  we  asked  every 
policeman  we  met  if  he'd  seen  her  ;  we  went  to  a 
police  station  ;  we  did  everything  we  could  think 
of,  but  no  Mrs.  Jackson  turned  up.  Then  we  was 
so  tired  an*  hungry  that  we  went  into  some  place 
or  other  an'  got  our  breakfast.  When  we  started 
out  ag'in,  we  kep'  on  up  one  street  an'  down 
another,  an'  askin'  everybody  who  looked  as  if 
they  had  two  grains  of  sense, — which  most  of  "cm 
didn't  look  as  if  they  had  mor'n  one,  an'  that  was 
in  use  to  get  'em  to  where  they  was  goin.'  At 
last,  a  little  ways  down  a  small  street,  we  seed  a 
crowd,  an*  the  minute  we  see  it  Jone  an*  me  both 
s;iid  in  our  inside  hearts  :  '  There  she  is ! '  An' 
sure  enough,  when  we  got  there,  who  should  we 
see,  with  a  ring  of  street-loafers  an'  boys  around 
her,  but  Mrs.  Andrew  Jackson,  with  her  little 
straw  hat  an'  her  green  carpet-slippers,  a-dancin' 
some  kind  of  a  skippin'  fandango,  an'  a-holdin'  out 
her  skirts  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  I  was  jus' 
agoin'  to  rush  in  an'  grab  her  when  a  man  walks 
quick  into  the  ring  and  touches  her  on  the  shoul 
der.  The  minute  I  seed  him  I  knowed  him.  1' 
was  our  old  boarder  1  " 


Rudder  Grange.  227 

•<  It  was  ?  "  exclaimed  Euphemia. 

"  Yes  it  was  truly  him,  an'  I  didn't  want  him  to 
see  me  there  in  such  company,  an'  he  most  likely 
knowin'  I  was  on  my  bridal-trip,  an'  so  I  made  a 
dive  at  my  bonnet  to  see  if  I  had  a  vail  on  ;  an' 
findin'  one,  I  hauled  it  down. 

"  '  Madam,'  says  the  boarder,  very  respectful, 
to  Mrs.  Jackson,  '  where  do  you  live  ?  Can't  I 
take  you  home?'  'No,  sir,'  says  she,  'at  least 
not  now.  If  you  have  a  carriage,  you  may  come 
for  me  after  a  while.  I  am  waiting  for  the  Bank 
of  the  United  States  to  open,  an'  until  which  time 
I  must  support  myself  on  the  light  fantastic  toe,' 
an'  then  she  tuk  up  her  skirts,  an'  begun  to  dance 
ag'in.  But  she  didn't  make  mor'n  two  skips  be 
fore  I  rushed  in,  an'  takin'  her  by  the  arm  hauled 
her  out  o'  the  ring.  An'  then  up  comes  the  big 
man  with  his  face  as  red  as  fire.  '  Look  here  !  ' 
says  he  to  her,  as  if  he  was  ready  to  eat  her  up. 
'  Did  you  draw  every  cent  of  that  money  ?  '  '  Not 
yet,  net  yet,'  says  she.  '  You  did,  you  purse- 
proud  cantalope,'  says  he.  '  You  know  very  well 
you  did,  an*  now  I'd  like  to  know  where  my  ox- 
money  is  to  come  from.'  But  Jone  an'  me  didn't 
intend  to  wait  for  no  sich  talk  as  this,  an'  he  tuk 
the  man  by  the  arm,  and  I  tuk  the  old  woman, 
an'  we  jus'  walked  'em  off.  The  boarder  he  told 
the  loafers  to  get  out  an'  go  home,  an'  none  of  'em 
follered  us,  for  they  know'd  if  they  did  he'd  a 


228  Rudder  Grange. 

batted  'em  over  the  head.  But  he  comes  up 
alongside  o'  me,  as  I  was  a'  walkin'  behind  with 
Mrs.  Jackson,  an'  says  he  :  '  How  d'ye  do.  Po 
mona  ?  '  I  must  say  I  felt  as  if  I  could  slip  in  be 
tween  two  flagstones,  but  as  I  couldn't  get  away, 
I  said  I  was  pretty  well.  '  I  heared  you  was  on 
your  bridal  trip,'  says  he  ag'in  ;  '  is  this  it  ?  '  It 
was  jus'  like  him  to  know  that,  an'  as  there  was  no 
help  for  it,  I  said  it  was.  '  Is  that  your  hus 
band  ?  '  says  he,  pointin'  to  Jone.  '  Yes,'  says  I. 
'  It  was  very  good  in  him  to  come  along,'  says  he. 
'  Is  these  two  your  groomsman  and  bridesmaid  ?  ' 
'  No  sir,'  says  I.  '  They're  crazy.'  '  No  wonder,' 
says  he.  '  It's  enough  to  drive  'em  so,  to  see  you 
two,'  an'  then  he  went  ahead  an'  shook  hands  with 
Jone,  an'  told  him  he'd  know'd  me  a  long  time  ; 
but  he  didn't  say  nuthin'  about  havin'  histed  me 
out  of  a  winder,  for  which  I  was  obliged  to  him. 
An'  then  he  come  back  to  me  an'  says  he,  '  Good- 
mornin',  I  must  go  to  the  office.  I  hope  you'll 
have  a  good  time  for  the  rest  of  your  trip.  If  you 
happen  to  run  short  o'  lunertics,  jus'  let  me  know, 
and  I'll  furnish  you  with  another  pair.'  'All 
right,'  says  I  ;  '  but  you  mustn't  bring  your  little 
girl  along.' 

"  He  kinder  laughed  at  this,  as  we  walked  away, 
an'  then  he  turned  around  an'  come  back,  and  says 
he,  'Have  you  been  to  any  the-ay-tcrs,  or  any 
thing,  since  you've  been  in  town  ?  '  '  No,'  says  I, 


Rudder  Grange.  229 

'not  one.'  'Well,'  says  he,  'you  ought  to  go. 
Which  do  you  like  best,  the  the-ay-ter,  the  cir-cus, 
or  wild-beasts  ? '  I  did  really  like  the  the-ay-ter 
best,  havin'  thought  of  bein'  a  play-actor,  as  you 
know,  but  I  considered  I'd  better  let  that  kind  c' 
thing  slide  jus'  now,  as  bein'  a  little  too  romantic, 
right  after  the  'sylum,  an'  so  I  says,  '  I've  been 
once  to  a  circus,  an'  once  to  a  wild-beast  garden, 
an'  I  like  'em  both.  I  hardly  know  which  I  like 
best — the  roarin'  beasts,  a-prancin'  about  in  their 
cages,  with  the  smell  of  blood  an'  hay,  an'  the 
towerin'  elephants  ;  or  the  horses,  an'  the  music, 
an'  the  gauzy  Aggers  at  the  circus,  an'  the  splendid 
knights  in  armor  an'  flashin'  pennants,  all  on  fiery 
steeds,  a-plungin'  ag'in  the  sides  of  the  ring,  with 
their  flags  a-flyin'  in  the  grand  entry,'  says  1,  real 
excited  with  what  I  remembered  about  these 
shows. 

"'Well,'  says  he,  'I  don't  wonder  at  your 
feelin's.  An'  now,  here's  two  tickets  for  to-night, 
which  you  an'  your  husband  can  have,  if  you  like, 
for  I  can't  go.  They're  to  a  meetin'  of  the  Hud 
son  County  Enter-mo-logical  Society,  over  to  Ho- 
boken,  at  eight  o'clock.' 

"  '  Over  to  Hoboken  ! '  says  I ;  '  that's  a  long 
way.' 

"  '  Oh  no,  it  isn't,'  says  he.  '  An'  it  wont  cost 
you  a  cent,  but  the  ferry.  They  couldn't  have 
them  shows  in  the  city,  for,  if  the  creatures  was 


230  Rudder  Grange. 

to  get  loose,  there's  no  knowin'  what  might  hap. 
pen.  So  take  'cm,  an'  have  as  much  fun  as  you 
can  for  the  rest  of  your  trip.  Good-bye  !  '  An* 
off  he  went. 

"  Well,  we  kep'  straight  on  to  the  doctor's,  an1 
glad  we  was  when  we  got  there,  an'  mad  he  was 
when  we  lef  Mrs.  Jackson  an'  the  General  on  his 
hands,  for  we  wouldn't  have  no  more  to  do  with 
'em,  an'  he  couldn't  help  undertaking*  to  see  that 
they  got  back  to  the  asylum.  I  thought  at  first 
he  wouldn't  lift  a  finger  to  get  us  our  trunk  ; 
but  he  cooled  down  after  a  bit,  an'  said  he 
hoped  we'd  try  some  different  kind  of  institu 
tion  for  the  rest  of  our  trip,  which  we  said  we 
thought  we  would. 

"  That  afternoon  we  gawked  around,  a-lookin' 
at  all  the  outside  shows,  for  Jone  said  he'd  have 
to  be  pretty  careful  of  his  money  now,  an'  he  was 
glad  when  I  told  him  I  had  two  free  tickets  in  my 
pocket  for  a  show  in  the  evenin.' 

"  As  we  was  a-walkin'  down  to  the  ferry,  after 
supper,  says  he  : 

"  'Suppose  you  let  me  have  a  look  at  them 
tickets.' 

"  So  I  hands  'em  to  him.  He  reads  one  of  'em, 
and  then  he  reads  the  other,  which  he  needn't  'a' 
done,  for  they  was  both  alike,  an'  then  he  turns  to 
me,  an'  says  he  : 

"  '  What  kind  of  a  man  is  your  boarder- as-was  If 


Rudder  Grange.  231 

"  It  wasn't  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  say 
jus'  what  he  was,  but  I  give  Jone  the  idea,  in  a 
general  sort  of  way,  that  he  was  pretty  lively. 

"  '  So  I  should  think.'  says  he.  '  He's  been 
tryin'  a  trick  on  us,  and  sendin'  us  to  the  wrong 
place.  It's  rather  late  in  the  season  for  a  show  of 
the  kind,  but  the  place  we  ought  to  go  to  is  a 
potato-field.' 

"  '  What  on  earth  are  you  talkin'  about  ?  '  says 
I,  dumbfoundered. 

"  '  Well,'  says  he,  'it's  a  trick  he's  been  playin'. 
He  thought  a  bridal  trip  like  ours  ought  to  have 
some  sort  of  a  outlandish  wind-up,  an'  so  he  sent 
us  to  this  place,  which  is  a  meetin'  of  chaps  who 
are  agoin'  to  talk  about  insec's, — principally  po 
tato-bugs,  I  expec' — an'  anything  stupider  than 
that,  I  s'pose  your  boarder-as-was  couldn't  think 
of,  without  havin'  a  good  deal  o*  time  to  con 
sider.' 

"  '  It's  jus'  like  him,'  says  I.  '  Let's  turn  round 
and  go  back,'  which  we  did,  prompt. 

"  We  gave  the  tickets  to  a  little  boy  who  was 
sellin'  papers,  but  I  don't  believe  he  went. 

"  '  Now  then,'  says  Jone,  after  he'd  been 
thinkin'  awhile,  '  there'll  be  no  morefoolin'  on  this 
trip.  I've  blocked  out  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  it, 
an'  we'll  wind  up  a  sight  better  than  that  boarder- 
as-was  has  any  idea  of.  To-morrow  we'll  go  to 
father's  an'  if  the  old  gentleman  has  got  any  money 


232  Rudder  Grange. 

on  the  crops,  which  I  expcc'  he  has,  by  this  time 
I'll  take  up  a  part  o'  my  share,  an'  we'll  have  a 
trip  to  Washington,  an'  see  the  President,  an' 
Congress,  an'  the  White  House,  an'  the  lamp 
always  a-burnin'  before  the  Supreme  Court, 

.an' ' 

'    "  '  Don't  say  no  more,'  says  I,  *  it's  splendid ! ' 

"  So,  early  the  nex'  day,  we  goes  off  jus'  as  fast 
as  trains  would  take  us  to  his  father's,  an'  we 
hadn't  been  there  mor'n  ten  minutes,  before  Jone 
found  out  he  had  been  summoned  on  a  jury. 

"  '  When  must  you  go?  '  says  I,  when  he  come, 
lookin'  a  kind  o'  pale,  to  tell  me  this. 

"  '  Right  off,'  says  he.  '  The  court  meets  this 
mornin'.  If  I  don't  hurry  up,  I'll  have  some  of 
'em  after  me.  But  I  wouldn't  cry  about  it.  I 
don't  believe  the  case  '11  last  morc'n  a  day.' 

"  The  old  man  harnessed  up  an'  took  Jone  to 
the  court-house,  an'  I  went  too,  for  I  might  as  well 
keep  up  the  idea  of  a  bridal-trip  as  not.  I  went 
up  into  the  gallery,  and  Jone,  he  was  set  among 
the  other  men  in  the  jury-box. 

"  The  case  was  about  a  man  named  Brown,  who 
married  the  half-sister  of  a  man  named  Adams, 
who  afterward  married  Brown's  mother,  and  sold 
Brown  a  house  he  had  got  from  Brown's  grand 
father,  in  trade  for  half  a  grist-mill,  which  the  other 
half  of  was  owned  by  Adams's  half-sister's  first  hu^ 
band,  who  left  all  his  property  to  a  soup  society, 


Rudder  Grange.  233 

in  trust,  till  his  son  should  come  of  age,  which  he 
never  did,  but  left  a  will  which  give  his  half  of  the 
mill  to  Brown,  and  the  suit  was  between  Brown 
and  Adams  and  Brown  again,  and  Adams's  half- 
sister,  who  was  divorced  from  Brown,  and  a  man 
named  Ramsey,  who  had  put  up  a  new  over-shot 
wheel  to  the  grist-mill." 

"Oh  my:"  exclaimed  Euphemia.  "How 
could  you  remember  all  that  ?  " 

"  I  heard  it  so  often,  I  couldn't  help  remember 
ing  it,"  replied  Pomona.  And  she  went  on  with 
her  narrative. 

"  That  case  wasn't  a  easy  one  to  understand,  as 
you  may  see  for  yourselves,  and  it  didn't  get  fin 
ished  that  day.  They  argyed  over  it  a  full  week. 
When  there  wasn't  no  more  witnesses  to  carve  up, 
one  lawyer  made  a  speech,  an'  he  set  that  crooked 
case  so  straight,  that  you  could  see  through  it 
from  the  over-shot  wheel  clean  back  to  Brown's 
grandfather.  Then  another  feller  made  a  speech, 
and  he  set  the  whole  thing  up  another  way.  It 
was  jus'  as  clear,  to  look  through,  but  it  was 
another  case  altogether,  no  more  like  the  other 
one  than  a  apple-pie  is  like  a  mug  o'  cider.  An' 
then  they  both  took  it  up,  an'  they  swung  it 
around  between  them,  till  it  was  all  twisted  an' 
knotted  an'  wound  up,  an'  tangled,  worse  than  a 
skein  o'  yarn  in  a  nest  o'  kittens,  an*  then  they 
give  it  to  the  jury. 


2J4  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Well,  when  them  jurymen  went  out,  there 
wasn't  none  of  'em,  as  Jone  tole  me  afterward,  as 
'  knew  whether  is  was  Brown  or  Adams  as  was 
dead,  or  whether  the  mill  was  to  grind  soup,  or  to 
be  run  by  soup-power.  Of  course  they  couldn't 
agree ;  three  of  'em  wanted  to  give  a  verdict  for 
the  boy  that  died,  two  of  'em  was  for  Brown's 
grandfather,  an'  the  rest  was  scattered,  some  goin' 
in  for  damages  to  the  witnesses,  who  ought  to  get 
somethin'  for  havin'  their  char-rtr-ters  ruined. 
Jone  he  jus'  held  back,  ready  to  jinc  the  other 
eleven  as  soon  as  they'd  agree.  But  they  couldn't 
do  it,  an'  they  was  locked  up  three  days  and  four 
nights.  You'd  better  believe  I  got  pretty  wild 
about  it,  but  I  come  to  court  every  day  an'  waited 
an'  waited,  bringin'  somethin'  to  cat  in  a  baskit. 

"  One  day,  at  dinner-time,  I  seed  the  judge  a- 
standin"  at  the  court-room  door,  a-wipin'  his  forrid 
with  a  handkerchief,  an'  I  went  up  to  him  an'  said, 
'  Do  you  think,  sir,  they'll  get  through  this  thing 
soon  ?  ' 

"  '  I  can't  say,  indeed,  said  he.  Are  you  inter 
ested  in  the  case  ?  ' 

"  '  I  should  think  I  was,'  said  I,  an'  then  I  told 
him  about  Jone's  bein'  a  juryman,  an'  how  we  was 
on  our  bridal-trip. 

"  '  You've  got  my  sympathy,  madam,'  says  he, 
'  but  it's  a  difficult  case  to  decide,  an'  I  don't 
wonder  it  takes  a  good  while.' 


Rudder  Grange.  235 

"  '  Nor  I  nuther,'  says  I,  '  an'  my  opinion  about 
these  things  is,  that  if  you'd  jus'  have  them  law 
yers  shut  up  in  another  room,  an'  make  'em  do 
their  talkin'  to  theirselves,  the  jury  could  keep 
their  minds  clear,  and  settle  the  cases  in  no  time/ 

"  '  There's  some  sense  in  that,  madam/  says  he, 
an'  then  he  went  into  court  ag'in. 

"  Jone  never  had  no  chance  to  jine  in  with  the 
other  fellers,  for  they  couldn't  agree,  an'  they 
were  all  discharged,  at  last.  So  the  whole  thing 
went  for  nuthin. 

"  When  Jone  come  out,  he  looked  like  he'd 
been  drawn  through  a  pump-log,  an'  he  says  to 
me,  tired-like, 

"  '  Has  there  been  a  frost  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,'  says  I,  '  two  of  'em.' 

"  '  All  right,  then,'  says  he.  '  I've  had  enough 
of  bridal-trips,  with  their  dry  falls,  their  lunatic 
asylums,  and  their  jury-boxes.  Let's  go  home  and 
settle  down.  We  needn't  be  afraid,  now  that 
there's  been  a  frost.'  ' 

"  Oh,  why  will  you  live  in  such  a  dreadful 
place?"  cried  Euphemia.  "You  ought  to  go 
somewhere  where  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  chills." 

"That's  jus'  what  I  thought,  ma'am,"  returned 
Pomona.  "  But  Jone  an'  me  got  a  disease-map  of 
this  country  an'  we  looked  all  over  it  careful,  an' 
wherever  there  wasn't  chills  there  was  somethin* 

Kit  seemed  a  good   deal  wuss  to   us.     An'  say; 


236  Rudder  Grange. 

Jone,  '  If  I'm  to  have  anything  the  matter  with  me, 
give  me  somethin'  I'm  used  to.  It  don't  do  for  a 
man  o'  my  time  o'  life  to  go  changin'  his  dis 
eases.'  " 

"  So  home  we  went.  An'  there  we  is  now.  An' 
as  this  is  the  end  of  the  bridal-trip  story,  I'll  go 
an'  take  a  look  at  the  cow  an'  the  chickens  an'  the 
horse,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Which  we  didn't, — and  we  g*adly  went  with  her 
over  the  estate. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN  WHICH  WE  TAKE  A  VACATION  AND   LOOK  TOR 
DAVID  DUTTON. 

IT  was  about  noon  of  a  very  fair  July  day,  in  the 
next  summer,  when  Euphemia  and  myself  arrived 
at  the  little  town  where  we  were  to  take  the  stage 
up  into  the  mountains.  We  were  off  for  a  two 
weeks'  vacation  and  our  minds  were  a  good  deal 
easier  than  when  we  went  away  before,  and  left 
Pomona  at  the  helm.  We  had  enlarged  the  boun 
daries  of  Rudder  Grange,  having  purchased  the 
house,  with  enough  adjoining  land  to  make  quite  a 
respectable  farm.  Of  course  I  could  not  attend 
to  the  manifold  duties  on  such  a  place,  and  my 
wife  seldom  had  a  happier  thought  than  when  she 
proposed  that  we  should  invite  Pomona  and  her 
husband  to  come  and  live  with  us.  Pomona  was 
delighted,  and  Jonas  was  quite  willing  to  run  our 
farm.  So  arrangements  were  made,  and  the  young 
couple  were  established  in  apartments  in  our  back 
building,  and  went  to  work  as  if  taking  care  of  us 


238  Rudder  Grange. 

and  our  possessions  was  the  ultimate  object  of  their 
lives.  Jonas  was  such  a  steady  fellow  that  wa 
feared  no  trouble  from  tree-man  or  lightning  rod 
der  during  this  absence. 

Our  destination  was  a  country  tavern  on  the 
stage-road,  not  far  from  the  point  where  the  road 
crosses  the  ridge  of  the  mountain-range,  and  about 
sixteen  miles  from  the  town.  We  had  heard  of  this 
tavern  from  a  friend  of  ours,  who  had  spent  a  sum 
mer  there.  The  surrounding  country  was  lovely, 
and  the  house  was  kept  by  a  farmer,  who  was  a 
good  soul,  and  tried  to  make  his  guests  happy. 
These  were  generally  passing  farmers  and  wagon 
ers,  or  stage-passengers,  stopping  for  a  meal,  but 
occasionally  a  person  from  the  cities,  like  our  friend, 
came  to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  the  mountains. 

So  hither  we  came,  for  an  out-of-the-world  spot 
like  this  was  just  what  we  wanted.  When  I  took 
our  places  at  the  stage-office,  I  inquired  for  David 
Button,  the  farmer  tavern-keeper  before  mentioned, 
but  the  agent  did  not  know  of  him. 

"  However,"  said  he,  "  the  driver  knows  every 
body  on  the  road,  and  he'll  set  you  down  at  the 
house." 

So,  off  we  started,  having  paid  for  our  tickets  on 
the  basis  that  we  were  to  ride  about  sixteen  miles. 
We  had  seats  on  top,  and  the  trip,  although  slow, 
— for  the  road  wound  uphill  steadily, — was  a  de 
lightful  one.  Our  way  lay,  for  the  greater  part  of 


Rudder  Grange.  239 

the  time,  through  the  woods,  but  now  and  then  we 
came  to  a  farm,  and  a  turn  in  the  road  often  gave 
us  lovely  views  of  the  foot-hills  and  the  valleys  be 
hind  us. 

But  the  driver  did  not  know  where  Button's  tav 
ern  was.  This  we  found  out  after  we  had  started. 
Some  persons  might  have  thought  it  wiser  to  set 
tle  this  matter  before  starting,  but  I  am  not  at  all 
sure  that  it  would  have  been  so.  We  were  going 
to  this  tavern,  and  did  not  wish  to  go  anywhere 
else.  If  people  did  not  know  where  it  was,  it 
would  be  well  for  us  to  go  and  look  for  it.  We 
knew  the  road  that  it  was  on,  and  the  locality  in 
which  it  was  to  be  found. 

Still,  it  was  somewhat  strange  that  a  stage-driver, 
passing  along  the  road  every  week-day, — one  day 
one  way,  and  the  next  the  other  way, — should  not 
know  a  public-house  like  Button's. 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,"  I  said,  "  the  stage 
used  to  stop  there  for  the  passengers  to  take  sup 
per." 

"Well,  then,  it  aint  on  this  side  o'  the  ridge," 
said  the  driver  ;  "we  stop  for  supper,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  on  the  other  side,  at  Pete  Lowry's. 
Perhaps  Button  used  to  keep  that  place.  Was  it 
called  the  '  Ridge  House  '  ?  " 

I  did  not  remember  the  name  of  the  house,  but 
I  knew  very  well  that  it  was  not  on  the  other  side 
of  the  ridge. 


240  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Then,"  said  the  driver,  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  kno\v 
where  it  is.  But  I've  only  been  on  the  road  about 
a  year,  and  your  man  may  'a'  moved  away  afore  I 
come.  But  there  aint  no  tavern  this  side  the  ridge, 
arter  ye  leave  Delhi,  and,  that's  nowherc's  nigh  the 
ridge." 

There  were  a  couple  of  farmers  who  were  sitting 
by  the  driver,  and  who  had  listened  with  consider 
able  interest  to  this  conversation.  Presently,  one 
of  them  turned  around  to  me  and  said  : 

"  Is  it  Dave  Dutton  ye're  askin'  about  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  that's  his  name." 

•'  Well,  I  think  he's  dead,"  said  he. 

At  this,  I  began  to  feel  uneasy,  and  I  could  see 
that  my  wife  shared  my  trouble. 

Then  the  other  farmer  spoke  up. 

"  I  don't  believe  he's  dead,  Hiram,"  said  he  to 
his  companion.  "  I  heered  of  him  this  spring. 
He's  got  a  sheep-farm  on  the  other  side  o'  the 
mountain,  and  he's  a  livin'  there.  That's  what  I 
heered,  at  any  rate.  But  he  don't  live  on  this  road 
any  more,"  he  continued,  turning  to  us.  "  lie 
used  to  keep  tavern  on  this  road,  and  the  stages 
did  used  to  stop  fur  supper — or  else  dinner,  I  don't 
jist  rec-collcct  which.  But  he  don't  keep  tavern  on 
this  road  no  more." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  his  companion,  "  if  he's 
a  livin'  over  the  mountain.  But  I  b'lieve  he's 
dead." 


Rudder  Grange.  241 

I  asked  the  other  farmer  if  he  knew  how  long  it 
had  been  since  Button  had  left  this  part  of  the 
country. 

"I  don't  know  fur  certain,"  he  said,  "but  I 
know  he  was  keeping  tavern  here  two  year'  ago, 
this  fall,  fur  I  came  along  here,  myself,  and  stopped 
there  to  git  supper — or  dinner,  I  don't  jist  ree-col- 
lect  which." 

It  had  been  three  years  since  our  friend  had 
boarded  at  Button's  house.  There  was  no  doubt 
that  the  man  was  not  living  at  his  old  place  now. 
My  wife  and  I  now  agreed  that  it  was  very  foolish 
in  us  to  come  so  far  without  making  more  particu 
lar  inquiries.  But  we  had  had  an  idea  that  a  man 
who  had  a  place  like  Button's  tavern  would  live 
there  always. 

"  What  are  ye  goin'  to  do  ?  "  asked  the  driver, 
very  much  interested,  for  it  was  not  every  day  that 
he  had  passengers  who  had  lost  their  destination. 
"  Ye  might  go  on  to  Lowry's.  He  takes  boarders 
sometimes." 

But  Lowry's  did  not  attract  us.  An  ordinary 
country- tavern,  where  stage-passengers  took  sup 
per,  was  not  what  we  came  so  far  to  find. 

"  Bo  you  know  where  this  house  o'  Button's 
is  ?  "  said  the  driver,  to  the  man  who  had  once 
taken  either  dinner  or  supper  there. 

"  Oh  yes  !  I'd  know  the  house  well  enough,  if  I 
saw  it.  It's  the  fust  house  this  side  o'  Lowry's." 


ii 


242  RudJcr  Grange. 

"  With  a  big  pole  in  front  of  it  ?  "  asked  the 
driver. 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  sign-pole  in  front  of  it." 
'  "  An'  a  long  porch  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Oh  !  well !  "  said  the  driver,  settling  himself  in 
his  seat.  "  I  know  all  about  that  house.  That's 
a  empty  house.  I  didn't  think  you  meant  that 
house.  There's  nobody  lives  there.  An'  yit, 
now  I  come  to  remember,  I  have  seen  people 
about,  too.  I  tell  ye  what  ye  better  do.  Since 
ye're  so  set  on  staying  on  this  side  the  ridge, 
ye  better  let  me  put  ye  down  at  Dan  Carson's 
place.  That's  jist  about  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
where  Button  used  to  live.  Dan's  wife  can  tell 
ye  all  about  the  Duttons,  an'  about  everybody 
else,  too,  in  this  part  o'  the  country,  and  if  there 
aint  nobody  livin'  at  the  old  tavern,  ye  can  stay 
all  night  at  Carson's,  and  I'll  stop  an'  take  you  back, 
to-morrow,  when  I  come  along." 

We  agreed  to  this  plan,  for  there  was  nothing 
better  to  be  done,  and,  late  in  the  afternoon,  we 
were  set  down  with  our  small  trunk — for  we  were 
traveling  under  light  weight — at  Dan  Carson's 
door.  The  stage  was  rather  behind  time,  and  the 
driver  whipped  up  and  left  us  to  settle  our  own 
affairs.  He  called  back,  however,  that  he  would 
keep  a  good  lookout  for  us  to-morrow. 

Mrs.  Carson  soon  made  her  appearance,  and, 


Rudder  Grange.  243 

very  naturally,  was  somewhat  surprised  to  see 
visitors  with  their  baggage  standing  on  her  little 
porch.  She  was  a  plain,  coarsely  dressed  woman, 
with  an  apron  full  of  chips  and  kindling  wood, 
and  a  fine  mind  for  detail,  as  we  soon  discov 
ered. 

"Jist  so,"  said  she,  putting  down  the  chips,  and 
inviting  us  to  seats  on  a  bench.  "  Dave  Button's 
folks  is  all  moved  away.  Dave  has  a  good  farm 
on  the  other  side  o'  the  mountain,  an'  it  never  did 
pay  him  to  keep  that  tavern,  'specially  as  he  didn't 
sell  liquor.  When  he  went  away,  his  son  Al  come 
there  to  live  with  his  wife,  an'  the  old  man  left  a 
good  deal  o'  furniter  and  things  fur  him,  but  Al's 
wife  aint  satisfied  here,  and,  though  they've  been 
here,  off  an*  on,  the  house  is  shet  up  most  o'  the 
time.  It's  fur  sale  an'  to  rent,  both,  ef  anybody 
wants  it.  I'm  sorry  about  you,  too,  fur  it  was  a 
nice  tavern,  when  Dave  kept  it." 

We  admitted  that  we  were  also  very  sorry,  and 
the  kind-hearted  woman  showed  a  great  deal  of 
sympathy. 

"You  might  stay  here,  but  we  haint  got  no  fit 
room  where  you  two  could  sleep." 

At  this,  Euphemia  and  I  looked  very  blank. 

"  But  you  could  go  up  to  the  house  and  stay, 
jist  as  well  as  not,"  Mrs.  Carson  continued. 
"There's  plenty  o'  things  there,  an'  I  keep  the 
key.  For  the  matter  o'  that,  ye  might  take  the 


244  Rudder  Grange. 

house  for  as  long  as  ye  want  to  stay ;  Dave  'd  be 
glad  enough  to  rent  it ;  and,  if  the  lady  knows  how 
to  keep  house,  it  wouldn't  be  no  trouble  at  all,  jist 
for  you  two.  We  could  let  ye  have  all  the  victuals 
ye'd  want,  cheap,  and  there's  plenty  o'  wood  there, 
cut,  and  everything  handy." 

We  looked  at  each  other.  We  agreed.  Here 
was  a  chance  for  a  rare  good  time.  It  might 
be  better,  perhaps,  than  anything  we  had  ex 
pected. 

The  bargain  was  struck.  Mrs.  Carson,  who 
seemed  vested  with  all  the  necessary  powers  of 
attorney,  appeared  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with 
our  trustworthiness,  and  when  I  paid  on  the  spot 
the  small  sum  she  thought  proper  for  two  weeks' 
rent,  she  evidently  considered  she  had  done  a  very 
good  thing  for  Dave  Dutton  and  herself. 

"I'll  jist  put  some  bread,  an'  eggs,  an'  coffee, 
an'  pork,  an'  things  in  a  basket,  an'  I'll  have  'em 
took  up  fur  ye,  with  yer  trunk,  an'  I'll  go  with  ye 
an'  take  some  milk.  Here,  Danny!"  she  cried, 
and  directly  her  husband,  a  long,  thin,  sun-burnt, 
sandy-headed  man,  appeared,  and  to  him  she  told, 
in  a  few  words,  our  story,  and  ordered  him  to  hitch 
up  the  cart  and  be  ready  to  take  our  trunk  and  the 
basket  up  to  Dutton's  old  house. 

When  all  was  ready,  we  walked  up  the  hill,  fol 
lowed  by  Danny  and  the  cart.  We  found  the 
house  a  large,  low,  old-fashioned  farm-house, 


Rudder  Grange.  245 

standing  near  the  road  with  a  long  piazza  in  front, 
and  a  magnificent  view  of  mountain-tops  in  the 
rear.  Within,  the  lower  rooms  were  large  and 
low,  with  quite  a  good  deal  of  furniture  in  them. 
There  was  no  earthly  reason  why  we  should  not 
be  perfectly  jolly  and  comfortable  here.  The  more 
we  saw,  the  more  delighted  we  were  at  the  odd 
experience  we  were  about  to  have.  Mrs.  Carson 
busied  herself  in  getting  things  in  order  for  our 
supper  and  general  accommodation.  She  made 
Danny  carry  our  trunk  to  a  bedroom  in  the 
second  story,  and  then  set  him  to  work  building 
a  fire  in  a  great  fire-place,  with  a  crane  for  the 
kettle. 

When  she  had  done  all  she  could,  it  was  nearly 
dark,  and  after  lighting  a  couple  of  candles,  she 
left  us,  to  go  home  and  get  supper  for  her  own 
family. 

As  she  and  Danny  were  about  to  depart  in  the 
cart,  she  ran  back  to  ask  us  if  we  would  like  to  bor 
row  a  dog. 

"There  aint  nuthin  to  be  afeard  of,"  she  said ; 
"  for  nobody  hardly  ever  takes  the  trouble  to  lock 
the  doors  in  these  parts,  but  bein'  city  folks,  I 
thought  ye  might  feel  better  if  ye  had  a  dog." 

We  made  haste  to  tell  her  that  we  were  not  city 
folks,  but  declined  the  dog.  Indeed,  Euphemia 
remarked  that  she  would  be  much  more  afraid  of 
a  strange  dog  than  of  robbers. 


246  Rudder  Grange. 

After  supper,  which  we  enjoyed  as  much  as  any 
meal  we  ever  ate  in  our  lives,  we  each  took  a  can 
dle,  and  after  arranging  our  bedroom  for  the  night, 
we  explored  the  old  house.  There  were  lots  of 
curious  things  everywhere, — things  that  were  ap 
parently  so  "old  timey,"  as  my  wife  remarked, 
that  David  Button  did  not  care  to  take  them  with 
him  to  his  new  farm,  and  so  left  them  for  his  son, 
who  probably  cared  for  them  even  less  than  his 
father  did.  There  was  a  garret  extending  over 
the  whole  house,  and  filled  with  old  spinning 
wheels,  and  strings  of  onions,  and  all  sorts  of  anti 
quated  bric-a-brac,  which  was  so  fascinating  to  me 
that  I  could  scarcely  tear  myself  away  from  it ;  but 
Euphemia,  who  was  dreadfully  afraid  that  I  would 
set  the  whole  place  on  fire,  at  length  prevailed  on 
me  to  come  down. 

We  slept  soundly  that  night,  in  what  was  proba 
bly  the  best  bedroom  of  the  house,  and  awoke 
with  a  feeling  that  we  were  about  to  enter  on  a 
period  of  some  uncommon  kind  of  jollity,  which 
we  found  to  be  true  when  we  went  down  to  get 
breakfast.  I  made  the  fire,  Euphemia  made  the 
coffee,  and  Mrs.  Carson  came  with  cream  and 
some  fresh  eggs.  The  good  woman  was  in  high 
spirits.  She  was  evidently  pleased  at  the  idea  of 
having  neighbors,  temporary  though  they  were, 
and  it  had  probably  been  a  long  time  since  she  had 
had  such  a  chance  of  selling  milk,  eggs  and  sun 


Rudder  Gra.ige.  247 

dries.  It  was  almost  the  same  as  opening  a  coun 
try  store.  We  bought  groceries  and  everything 
of  her. 

We  had  a  glorious  time  that  day.  We  were  just 
starting  out  for  a  mountain  stroll  when  our  stage- 
driver  came  along  on  his  down  trip. 

"Hello!"  he  called  out.  "Want  to  go  back 
this  morning  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  I  cried.  "  We  wont  go  back 
for  a  couple  of  weeks.  We've  settled  here  for  the 
present." 

The  man  smiled.  He  didn't  seem  to  understand 
it  exactly,  but  he  was  evidently  glad  to  see  us  so 
well  satisfied.  If  he  had  had  time  to  stop  and 
have  the  matter  explained  to  him,  he  would  prob 
ably  have  been  better  satisfied ;  but  as  it  was,  he 
waved  his  whip  to  us  and  drove  on.  He  was  a 
good  fellow. 

We  strolled  alF  day,  having  locked  up  the  house 
and  taken  our  lunch  with  us  ;  and  when  we  came 
back,  it  seemed  really  like  coming  home.  Mrs. 
Carson  with  whom  we  had  left  the  key,  had 
brought  the  milk  and  was  making  the  fire.  This 
woman  was  too  kind.  We  determined  to  try  and 
repay  her  in  some  way.  After  a  splendid  supper 
we  went  to  bed  happy. 

The  next  day  was  a  repetition  of  this  one,  but 
the  day  after  it  rained.  So  we  determined  to 
enjoy  the  old  tavern,  and  we  rummaged  about 


248  Rudder  Grange. 

everywhere.  I  visited  the  garret  again,  and  we 
went  to  the  old  barn,  with  its  mows  half  full  of 
hay,  and  had  rare  times  climbing  about  there. 
We  were  delighted  that  it  happened  to  rain.  In  a 
ivood-shed,  near  the  house,  I  saw  a  big  square 
board  with  letters  on  it.  I  examined  the  board, 
and  found  it  was  a  sign, — a  hanging  sign, — and 
on  it  was  painted  in  letters  that  were  yet  quite 
plain : 

"  FARMERS' 

AND 

MECHANICS' 

HOTEL." 

I  called  to  Euphemia  and  told  her  that  I  had 
found  the  old  tavern  sign.  She  came  to  look  at  it, 
and  I  pulled  it  out. 

"  Soldiers  and  sailors  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  that's 
funny." 

I  looked  over  on  her  side  of  the  sign,  and,  sure 
enough,  there  was  the  inscription  : 

"  SOLDIERS' 

AND 

SAILORS' 
HOUSE." 

"They  must  have  bought  this  comprehensive 
sign  in  some  town,"  I  said.  "  Such  a  name 


Rudder  Grange,  249 

would  never  have  been  chosen  for  a  country  tavern 
like  this.  But  I  wish  they  hadn't  taken  it  down. 
The  house  would  look  more  like  what  it  ought  to 
be  with  its  sign  hanging  before  it." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Euphemia,  "let's  put  it  up." 

I  agreed  instantly  to  this  proposition,  and  we 
went  to  look  for  a  ladder.  We  found  one  in  the 
wagon-house,  and  carried  it  out  to  the  sign-post 
in  the  front  of  the  house.  It  was  raining,  gently, 
during  these  performances,  but  we  had  on  our  old 
clothes,  and  were  so  much  interested  in  our  work 
that  we  did  not  care  for  a  little  rain.  I  carried  the 
sign  to  the  post,  and  then,  at  the  imminent  risk  of 
breaking  my  neck,  I  hung  it  on  its  appropriate 
hooks  on  the  transverse  beam  of  the  sign-post. 
Now  our  tavern  was  really  what  it  pretended  to  be. 
We  gazed  on  the  sign  with  admiration  and  content. 

"  Do  you  think  we  had  better  keep  it  up  all  the 
time  ?  "  I  asked  of  my  wife. 

"Certainly,"  said  she.  "It's  a  part  of  the 
house.  The  place  isn't  complete  without  it." 

"  But  suppose  some  one  should  come  along  and 
want  to  be  entertained  ?  " 

"  But  no  one  will.  And  if  people  do  come,  I'll 
take  care  of  the  soldiers  and  sailors,  if  you  will 
attend  to  the  farmers  and  mechanics." 

I  consented  to  this,  and  we  went  in-doors  to 
prepare  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

OUR   TAVERN. 

THE  next  day  was  clear  again,  and  we  rambled 
in  the  woods  until  the  sun  was  nearly  down,  and 
so  were  late  about  supper.  We  were  just  taking 
our  seats  at  the  table  when  we  heard  a  footstep  on 
the  front  porch.  Instantly  the  same  thought  came 
into  each  of  our  minds. 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Euphemia,  "that's  some 
body  who  has  mistaken  this  for  a  tavern.  I  won 
der  whether  it's  a  soldier  or  a  farmer  or  a  sailor ; 
but  you  had  better  go  and  see." 

I  went  to  see,  prompted  to  move  quickly  by  the 
new-comer  pounding  his  cane  on  the  bare  floor  of 
the  hall.  I  found  him  standing  just  inside  of  the 
front  door.  He  was  a  small  man,  with  long  hair 
and  beard,  and  dressed  in  a  suit  of  clothes  of  a 
remarkable  color, — something  of  the  hue  of  faded 
snuff.  He  had  a  big  stick,  and  carried  a  large  flat 
valise  in  one  hand. 

He  bowed  to  me  very  politely. 


Rudder  Grange.  251 

"  Can  I  stop  here  to-night  ?  "  he  asked,  taking 
off  his  hat,  as  my  wife  put  her  head  out  of  the 
kitchen-door. 

"  Why, — no,  sir,"  I  said.    "  This  is  not  a  tavern." 

"  Not  a  tavern  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  un 
derstand  that.  You  have  a  sign  out." 

"That  is  true,"  I  said  ;  "  but  that  is  only  for 
fun,  so  to  speak.  We  are  here  temporarily,  and 
we  put  up  that  sign  just  to  please  ourselves." 

"  That  is  pretty  poor  fun  for  me,"  said  the  man. 
"  I  am  very  tired,  and  more  hungry  than  tired. 
Couldn't  you  let  me  have  a  little  supper  at  any 
rate  ?  " 

Euphemia  glanced  at  me.     I  nodded. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  some  supper,"  she  said, 
"  Come  in  i  We  eat  in  the  kitchen  because  it  is 
more  convenient,  and  because  it  is  so  much  more 
cheerful  than  the  dining-room.  There  is  a  pump 
out  there,  and  here  is  a  towel,  if  you  would  like  to 
wash  your  hands." 

As  the  man  went  out  the  back  door  I  compli 
mented  my  wife.  She  was  really  an  admirable 
hostess. 

The  individual  in  faded  snuff-color  was  certainly 
hungry,  and  he  seemed  to  enjoy  his  supper.  During 
the  meal  he  gave  us  some  account  of  himself.  He 
was  an  artist  and  had  traveled,  mostly  on  foot  it 
would  appear,  over  a  great  part  of  the  country. 
He  had  in  his  valise  some  very  pretty  little  colored 


252  Rudder  Grange. 

sketches  of  scenes  in  Mexico  and  California,  which 
he  showed  us  after  supper.  Why  he  carried  these 
pictures — which  were  done  on  stiff  paper — about 
with  him  I  do  not  know.  He  said  he  did  not  care 
to  sell  them,  as  he  might  use  them  for  studies  for 
larger  pictures  some  day.  His  valise,  which  he 
opened  wide  on  the  table,  seemed  to  be  filled  with 
papers,  drawings,  and  matters  of  that  kind.  I  sup 
pose  he  preferred  to  wear  his  clothes,  instead  of 
carrying  them  about  in  his  valise. 

After  sitting  for  about  half  an  hour  after  supper, 
he  rose,  with  an  uncertain  sort  of  smile,  and  said 
he  supposed  he  must  be  moving  on, — asking,  at 
the  same  time,  how  far  it  was  to  the  tavern  over 
the  ridge. 

"Just  wait  one  moment,  if  you  please,"  said 
Euphemia.  And  she  beckoned  me  out  of  the 
room. 

"Don't  you  think,"  said  she,  "  that  we  could 
keep  him  all  night  ?  There's  no  moon,  and  it 
would  be  a  fearful  dark  walk,  I  know,  to  the  other 
side  of  the  mountain.  There  is  a  room  upstairs 
that  I  can  fix  for  him  in  ten  minutes,  and  I  know 
he's  honest." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  because  he  wears  such  curious-colored 
clothes.  No  criminal  would  ever  wear  such 
clothes.  He  could  never  pass  unnoticed  any 
where  ;  and  being  probably  the  only  person  in 


Rudder  Grange.  253 

the  world  who  dressed  that  way,  he  could  always 
be  detected." 

"  You  are  doubtless  correct  "  I  replied.  "Let 
us  keep  him." 

When  we  told  the  good  man  that  he  could  stay 
all  night,  he  was  extremely  obliged  to  us,  and  went 
to  bed  quite  early.  After  we  had  fastened  the 
house  and  had  gone  to  our  room,  my  wife  said  to 
me, 

"  Where  is  your  pistol  ?  " 

I  produced  it. 

"  Well,  said  she,  "  I  think  you  ought  to  have  it 
where  you  can  get  at  it." 

"Why  so?"  I  asked.  "You  generally  want 
me  to  keep  it  out  of  sight  and  reach." 

"  Yes  ;  but  when  there  is  a  strange  man  in  the 
house  we  ought  to  take  extra  precautions." 

"  But  this  man  you  say  is  honest,"  I  replied. 
"If  he  committed  a  crime  he  could  not  escape, — 
his  appearance  is  so  peculiar." 

"  But  that  wouldn't  do  us  any  good,  if  we  were 
both  murdered,"  said  Euphemia,  pulling  a  chair  up 
to  my  side  of  the  bed,  and  laying  the  pistol  care 
fully  thereon,  with  the  muzzle  toward  the  bed. 

We  were  not  murdered,  and  we  had  a  very 
pleasant  breakfast  with  the  artist,  who  told  us  more 
anecdotes  of  his  life  in  Mexico  and  other  places. 
When,  after  breakfast,  he  shut  up  his  valise, 
preparatory  to  starting  away,  we  felt  really  sorry 


Rudder  Grange. 

When  he  was  ready  to  go,  he  asked  for  his 
bill. 

"Oh!  There  is  no  bill,"  I  exclaimed.  "We 
have  no  idea  of  charging  you  anything.  We  don't 
really  keep  a  hotel,  as  I  told  you." 

"  If  I  had  known  that,"  said  he,  looking  very 
grave,  "  I  would  not  have  stayed.  There  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  give  me  food  and  lodg 
ings,  and  I  would  not,  and  did  not,  ask  it.  I  am 
able  to  pay  for  such  things,  and  I  wish  to  do 
so." 

We  argued  with  him  for  some  time,  speaking  of 
the  habits  of  country  people  and  so  on,  but  he 
would  not  be  convinced.  He  had  asked  for  ac 
commodation  expecting  to  pay  for  it,  and  would 
not  be  content  until  he  had  done  so. 

"  Well,"  said  Euphemia,  "  we  are  not  keeping 
this  house  for  profit,  and  you  can't  force  us  to  make 
anything  out  of  you.  If  you  will  be  satisfied  to 
pay  us  just  what  it  cost  us  to  entertain  you,  I  sup 
pose  we  shall  have  to  let  you  do  that.  Take  a  seat 
for  a  minute,  and  I  will  make  out  your  bill." 

So  the  artist  and  I  sat  down  and  talked  of  various 
matters,  while  my  wife  got  out  her  traveling  station 
ery-box,  and  sat  down  to  the  dining-table  to  make 
out  the  bill.  After  a  long,  long  time,  as  it  appeared 
to  me,  I  said  : 

"  My  dear,  if  the  amount  of  that  bill  is  at  all 
proportioned  to  the  length  of  time  it  takes  to  make 


Rudder  Grange.  255 

it  out,  I  think  our  friend  here  will  wish  he  had 
never  said  anything  about  it." 

"  It's  nearly  done,"  said  she,  without  raising  her 
head,  and,  in  about  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  more, 
she  rose  and  presented  the  bill  to  our  guest.  As 
I  noticed  that  he  seemed  somewhat  surprised  at  it, 
I  asked  him  to  let  me  look  over  it  with  him. 

The  bill,  of  which  I  have  a  copy,  read  as  follows : 

July  1 2th,  187 — 

A.RTIST 

To  the  S.  and  S.  Hotel  and  F.  and  M.  House. 
To  \  one  supper,   July  nth,  which  supper  consisted  of : 

-fa  Ib.  coffee,  at  3$cts 2}  cts. 

«'  "    sugar,    "14"   I 

fcqt.milk,      "    6"   I 

i  loaf  bread    "    6" 3 

•frlb.  butter    "25"  3i 

^  "  bacon      "  25  " 12^ 

-fV  pk.  potatoes  at  60  cts.  per  bush ±$ 

$  pt.  hominy  at  6  cts 3 


of  total  ............  09.4^  eta. 


To  J  one  breakfast,  July  i2th  (same  as  above,  with 
exception  of  eggs  instead  of  bacon,  and  with 
hominy  omitted), 


total 


To  rent  of  one  room  and  furniture,  for  one  night,  in  fur 
nished  house  of  fifteen  rooms  at  $6.00  per  week  for 
whole  house  .....................................  05!  " 

Amount  due  ..........  22$  $•  cts. 


256  Rudder  Grange. 

The  worthy  artist  burst  out  laughing  when  he 
read  this  bill,  and  so  did  I. 

"  You  needn't  laugh,"  said  Euphemia,  reddening 
a  little.  "  That  is  exactly  what  your  entertain 
ment  cost,  and  we  do  not  intend  to  take  a  cent 
more.  We  get  things  here  in  such  small  quanti 
ties  that  I  can  tell  quite  easily  what  a  meal  costs 
us,  and  I  have  calculated  that  bill  very  carefully." 

"  So  I  should  think,  madam,"  said  the  artist, 
"  but  it  is  not  quite  right.  You  have  charged 
nothing  for  your  trouble  and  services." 

"  No,"  said  my  wife,  "  for  I  took  no  additional 
trouble  to  get  your  meals.  What  I  did,  I  should 
have  done  if  you  had  not  come.  To  be  sure  I  did 
spend  a  few  minutes  preparing  your  room.  I  will 
charge  you  seven  twenty-fourths  of  a  cent  for  that, 
thus  making  your  bill  twenty-three  cents — even 
money." 

"  I  cannot  gainsay  reasoning  like  yours,  madam." 
he  said,  and  he  took  a  quarter  from  a  very  fat  old 
pocket-book,  and  handed  it  to  her.  She  gravely 
gave  him  two  cents  change,  and  then  taking  the 
bill,  receipted  it,  and  handed  it  back  to  him. 

We  were  sorry  to  part  with  our  guest,  for  he 
was  evidently  a  good  fellow.  I  walked  with  him 
a  little  way  up  the  road,  and  got  him  to  let  me 
copy  his  bill  in  my  memorandum-book.  The 
original,  he  said,  he  would  always  keep. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  artist's  departure,  we 


Rudder  Grange.  2$] 

were  standing  on  the  front  piazza.  We  had  had  a 
late  breakfast — consequent  upon  a  long  tramp  the 
day  before — and  had  come  out  to  see  what  sort  of 
a  day  it  was  likely  to  be.  We  had  hardly  made 
up  our  minds  on  the  subject  when  the  morning 
stage  came  up  at  full  speed  and  stopped  at  our 
gate. 

"Hello!"  cried  the  driver.  He  was  not  our 
driver.  He  was  a  tall  man  in  high  boots,  and  had 
a  great  reputation  as  a  manager  of  horses — so 
Danny  Carson  told  me  afterward.  There  were  two 
drivers  on  the  line,  and  each  of  them  made  one 
trip  a  day,  going  up  one  day  in  the  afternoon,  and 
down  the  next  day  in  the  morning. 

I  went  out  to  see  what  this  driver  wanted. 

"  Can't  you  give  my  passengers  breakfast  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Why,  no  !  "  I  exclaimed,  looking  at  the  stage 
loaded  inside  and  out.  "  This  isn't  a  tavern.  We 
couldn't  get  breakfast  for  a  stage-load  of  peo 
ple." 

"What  have  you  got  a  sign  up  fur,  then?" 
roared  the  driver,  getting  red  in  the  face. 

"  That's  so,"  cried  two  or  three  men  from  the 
top  of  the  stage.  "If  it  aint  a  tavern,  what's  that 
sign  doin'  there  ?  " 

I  saw  I  must  do  something.  I  stepped  up 
close  to  the  stage  and  looked  in  and  up. 

"  Are  there  any  sailors  in  this  stage  ?  "  I  said. 


358  RiulJcr  Grange. 

There  was  no  response.  "Any  soldiers?  Anj 
farmers  or  mechanics  ?  " 

At  the  latter  question  I  trembled,  but  fortu 
nately  no  one  answered. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  you  have  no  right  to  ask  to 
be  accommodated  ;  for,  as  you  may  see  from  the 
sign,  our  house  is  only  for  soldiers,  sailors,  farmers, 
and  mechanics." 

"  And  besides,"  cried  Euphemia  from  the  piazza, 
"  we  haven't  anything  to  give  you  for  breakfast." 

The  people  in  and  on  the  stage  grumbled  a  good 
deal  at  this,  and  looked  as  if  they  were  both  dis 
appointed  and  hungry,  while  the  driver  ripped 
out  an  oath,  which,  had  he  thrown  it  across  a 
creek,  would  soon  have  made  a  good-sized  mill- 
pond. 

He  gathered  up  his  reins  and  turned  a  sinister 
look  on  me. 

"  I'll  be  even  with  you,  yit,"  he  cried  as  he 
dashed  off. 

In  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Carson  came  up  and  toK 
us  that  the  stage  had  stopped  there,  and  that  she 
had  managed  to  give  the  passengers  some  coffee, 
bread  and  butter  and  ham  and  eggs,  though  they 
had  had  to  wait  their  turns  for  cups  and  plates.  It 
appeared  that  the  driver  had  quarreled  with  the 
ry  people  that  morning  because  the  breakfast 
was  behindhand  and  he  was  kept  waiting.  So  he 
told  his  passengers  that  there  was  another  tavern, 


Rudder  Grange.  259 

a  few  miles  down  the  road,  and  that  he  would  take 
them  there  to  breakfast. 

"  He's  an  awful  ugly  man,  that  he  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Carson,  "  an'  he'd  better  'a'  stayed  at  Lowry's,  fur 
he  had  to  wait  a  good  sight  longer,  after  all,  as  it 
turned  out.  But  he's  dreadful  mad  at  you,  an* 
says  he'll  bring  ye  farmers,  an'  soldiers,  and  sailors, 
an'  mechanics,  if  that's  what  ye  want.  I  'spect 
he'll  do  his  best  to  git  a  load  of  them  particular 
people  an'  drop  'em  at  yer  door.  I'd  take  down 
that  sign,  ef  I  was  you.  Not  that  me  an'  Danny 
minds,  fur  we're  glad  to  git  a  stage  to  feed,  an'  ef 
you've  any  single  man  that  wants  lodgin'  we've 
fixed  up  a  room  and  kin  keep  him  overnight." 

Notwithstanding  this  warning,  Euphemia  and  I 
decided  not  to  take  in  our  sign.  We  were  not  to 
be  frightened  by  a  stage-driver.  The  next  day 
our  own  driver  passed  us  on  the  road  as  he  was 
going  down. 

"  So  ye're  pertickler  about  the  people  ye  take 
in,  are  ye  ?  "  said  he,  smiling.  "  That's  all  right, 
but  ye  made  Bill  awful  mad." 

It  was  quite  late  on  a  Monday  afternoon  that 
Bill  stopped  at  our  house  again.  He  did  not  call 
out  this  time.  He  simply  drew  up,  and  a  man  with 
a  big  black  valise  clambered  down  from  the  top  of 
the  stage.  Then  Bill  shouted  to  me  as  I  walked 
down  to  the  gate,  looking  rather  angry  I  sup 
pose: 


260  Rudder  6>.. 

"  I  was  agoin'  to  git  ye  a  whole  stage-load,  to 
stay  all  night,  but  that  one  '11  do  ye,  I  reckon. 
Ha,  ha  !  "  And  off  he  went,  probably  fearing  that 
I  would  throw  his  passenger  up  on  the  top  of  the 
stage  again. 

The  new-comer  entered  the  gate.  He  was  a 
dark  man,  with  black  hair  and  black  whiskers  and 
mustache,  and  black  eyes.  He  wore  clothes  that 
had  been  black,  but  which  were  now  toned  down 
by  a  good  deal  of  dust,  and,  as  I  have  said,  he  car 
ried  a  black  valise. 

"Why  did  you  stop  here?"  said  I,  rather  in 
hospitably.  "  Don't  you  know  that  we  do  not 
accommodate " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  said,  walking  up  on  the 
piazza  and  setting  down  his  valise,  "  that  you  only 
take  soldiers,  sailors,  farmers,  and  mechanics  at  this 
house.  I  have  been  told  all  about  it,  and  if  I  had 
not  thoroughly  understood  the  matter  I  should 
not  have  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  stopping  here. 
If  you  will  sit  down  for  a  few  moments  I  will  ex 
plain."  Saying  this,  he  took  a  seat  on  a  bench  by 
the  door,  but  Euphemia  and  I  continued  to  stand. 

"I  am,"  he  continued,  "a  soldier,  a  sailor,  a 
farmer,  and  a  mechanic.  Do  not  doubt  my  word  ; 
I  will  prove  it  to  you  in  two  minutes.  When  but 
ateen  years  of  age,  circumstances  compelled  me 
to  take  charge  of  a  farm  in  New  Hampshire,  and  I 
kept  up  that  farm  until  I  was  twenty-five.  During 


Rudder  Grange.  261 

this  time  I  built  several  barns,  wagon-houses,  and 
edifices  of  the  sort  on  my  place,  and,  becoming  ex 
pert  in  this  branch  of  mechanical  art,  I  was  much 
sought  after  by  the  neighboring  farmers,  who  em 
ployed  me  to  do  similar  work  for  them.  In  time  I 
found  this  new  business  so  profitable  that  I  gave 
up  farming  altogether.  But  certain  unfortunate 
speculations  threw  me  on  my  back,  and  finally, 
having  gone  from  bad  to  worse,  I  found  myself  in 
Boston,  where,  in  sheer  desperation,  I  went  on 
board  a  coasting  vessel  as  landsman.  I  remained 
on  this  vessel  for  nearly  a  year,  but  it  did  not  suit 
me.  I  was  often  sick,  and  did  not  like  the  work. 
I  left  the  vessel  at  one  of  the  Southern  ports,  and 
it  was  not  long  after  she  sailed  that,  finding  myself 
utterly  without  means,  I  enlisted  as  a  soldier.  I 
remained  in  the  army  for  some  years,  and  was 
finally  honorably  discharged.  So  you  see  that 
what  I  said  was  true.  I  belong  to  each  and  all  of 
these  businesses  and  professions.  And  now  that  I 
have  satisfied  you  on  this  point,  let  me  show  you  a 
book  for  which"  I  have  the  agency  in  this  country." 
He  stooped  down,  opened  his  valise,  and  took  out 
a  good-sized  volume.  "  This  book,"  said  he,  "is 
the  '  Flora  and  Fauna  of  Carthage  County ; '  it  is 
written  by  one  of  the  first  scientific  men  of  the 
country,  and  gives  you  a  description,  with  an  au 
thentic  wood-cut,  of  each  of  the  plants  and  animals 
of  the  county — indigenous  or  naturalized.  Owinj. 


2C,2  Rudder  Grange. 

to  peculiar  advantages  enjoyed  by  our  firm,  we  arc 
enabled  to  put  this  book  at  the  very  low  price  of 
three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents.  It  is  sold  by 
subscription  only,  and  should  be  on  the  center- 
table  in  every  parlor  in  this  county.  If  you  will 
glance  over  this  book,  sir,  you  will  find  it  as  in 
teresting  as  a  novel,  and  as  useful  as  an  encyclo- 
pxdia " 

"  I  don't  want  the  book,"  I  said,  "  and  I  don't 
care  to  look  at  it." 

"  But  if  you  were  to  look  at  it  you  would  want 
it,  I'm  sure." 

"  That's  a  good  reason  for  not  looking  at  it, 
then,"  I  answered.  "  If  you  came  to  get  us  to  sub 
scribe  for  that  book  we  need  not  take  up  any  more 
of  your  time,  for  we  shall  not  subscribe." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  come  for  that  alone,"  he  said. 
"  I  shall  stay  here  to-night  and  start  out  in  the 
morning  to  work  up  the  neighborhood.  If  you 
would  like  this  book — and  I'm  sure  you  have  only 
to  look  at  it  to  do  that — you  can  deduct  the  amount 
of  my  bill  from  the  subscription  price,  and " 

"  What  did  you  say  you  charged  for  this  book  ?  " 
asked  Euphemia,  stepping  forward  and  picking  up 
the  volume. 

44  Three  seventy-five  is  the  subscription  price, 
ma'am,  but  that  book  is  not  for  sale.  That  is 
merely  a  sample.  If  you  put  your  name  down  on 
my  list  you  will  be  served  with  your  book  in  two 


Rudder  Grange.  263 

weeks.  As  I  told  your  husband,  it  will  come  very 
cheap  to  you,  because  you  can  deduct  what  you 
charge  me  for  supper,  lodging,  and  breakfast/' 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  my  wife,  and  then  she  remarked 
that  she  must  go  in  the  house  and  get  supper. 

"  When  will  supper  be  ready  ?  "  the  man  asked, 
as  she  passed  him. 

At  first  she  did  not  answer  him,  but  then  she 
called  back  : 

"  In  about  half  an  hour." 

"Good,"  said  the  man;  "but  I  wish  it  was 
ready  now.  And  now,  sir,  if  you  would  just 
glance  over  this  book,  while  we  are  waiting  for 
supper " 

I  cut  him  very  short  and  went  out  into  the  road. 
I  walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house,  in  a 
bad  humor.  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  my  wife 
getting  supper  for  this  fellow,  who  was  striding 
about  on  the  piazza,  as  if  he  was  very  hungry  and 
very  impatient.  Just  as  I  returned  to  the  house, 
the  bell  rang  from  within. 

"Joyful  sound!"  said  the  man,  and  in  he 
marched.  I  followed  close  behind  him.  On  one 
end  of  the  table,  in  the  kitchen,  supper  was  set  for 
one  person,  and,  as  the  man  entered,  Euphemia 
motioned  him  to  the  table.  The  supper  looked 
like  a  remarkably  good  one.  A  cup  of  coffee 
smoked  by  the  side  of  the  plate  ;  there  was  ham 
and  eggs  and  a  small  omelette  ;  there  were  fried 


Rudder  Grange. 

potatoes,  some  fresh  radishes,  a  plate  of  hot 
biscuit,  and  some  preserves.  The  man's  eyes 
sparkled. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  to  eat  alone, 
for  I  hoped  to  have  your  good  company ;  but,  if 
this  plan  suits  you,  it  suits  me,"  and  he  drew  up  a 
chair. 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Euphemia,  advancing  between 
him  and  the  table.  "  You  are  not  to  eat  that. 
This  is  a  sample  supper.  If  you  order  a  supper 
like  it,  one  will  be  served  to  you  in  two  weeks." 

At  this  I  bursr  into  a  roar  of  laughter ;  my  wife 
stood  pale  and  determined,  and  the  man  drew 
back,  looking  first  at  one  of  us,  and  then  at  the 
other. 

"  Am  I  to  understand ?  "  he  said. 

"Yes,"  I  interrupted,  "you  are.  There  is 
nothing  more  to  be  said  on  this  subject.  You  may 
go  now.  You  came  here  to  annoy  us,  knowing 
th.it  we  did  not  entertain  travelers,  and  now  you 
sec  what  you  have  made  by  it,"  and  I  opened  the 
door. 

The  man  evidently  thought  that  a  reply  was  not 
necessary,  and  he  walked  out  without  a  word. 
Taking  up  his  valise,  which  he  had  put  in  the  hall, 
he  asked  if  there  was  any  public-house  near  by. 

"No,"  I  said;  "but  there  is  a  farm-house  a 
short  distance  down  the  road,  where  they  will  be 
glad  to  have  you."  And  down  the  road  he  went 


Rudder  Grange.  26$ 

to  Mrs.  Carson's.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  sold 
her  a  "  Flora  and  Fauna"  before  he  went  to  bed 
that  night. 

We  were  much  amused  at  the  termination  of  this 
affair,  and  I  became,  if  possible,  a  still  greater  ad 
mirer  of  Euphemia's  talents  for  management.  But 
we  both  agreed  that  it  would  not  do  to  keep  up 
the  sign  any  longer.  We  could  not  tell  when  the 
irate  driver  might  not  pounce  down  upon  us  with 
a  customer. 

"  But  I  hate  to  take  it  down,"  said  Euphemia  ; 
"  it  looks  so  much  like  a  surrender." 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself,"  said  I.  "  I  have  an 
idea." 

The  next  morning  I  went  down  to  Danny  Car 
son's  little  shop, — he  was  a  wheelwright  as  wel*  as 
a  farmer, — and  I  got  from  him  two  pots  of  paivt — 
one  black  and  one  white — and  some  brushes  I 
took  down  our  sign,  and  painted  out  the  old  let 
tering,  and,  instead  of  it,  I  painted,  in  bold  and 
somewhat  regular  characters,  new  names  foj  ouf 
tavern. 

On  one  side  of  the  sign  I  painted : 

"  SOAP-MAKER'S 

AND 

BOOK-BINDER'S 
HOTEL." 


206  Rudder  Grange. 

And  on  the  other  side  : 

"  UPHOLSTERERS' 

AND 

DENTISTS' 
HOUSE." 

'  Now  then,"  I  said,  •*  I  don't  believe  any  of 
those  people  will  be  traveling  along  the  road  while 
we  are  here,  or,  at  any  rate,  they  won't  want  to 
stop." 

We  admired  this  sign  very  much,  and  sat  on  the 
pia/./a,  that  afternoon,  to  see  how  it  would  strike 
Hill,  as  he  passed  by.  It  seemed  to  strike  him 
pretty  hard,  for  he  gazed  with  all  his  eyes  at  one 
side  of  it,  as  he  approached,  and  then,  as  he  passed 
it,  he  actually  pulled  up  to  read  the  other  side. 

"  All  right !  "  he  called  out,  as  he  drove  off. 
"  All  right !  All  right !  " 

Euphcmia  didn't  like  the  way  he  said  "  all  right." 
It  seemed  to  her,  she  said,  as  if  he  intended  to  do 
something  which  would  be  all  right  for  him,  but 
not  at  all  so  for  us.  I  saw  she  was  nervous  about 
it,  for  that  evening  she  began  to  ask  me  questions 
about  the  traveling  propensities  of  soap-makers, 
upholsterers,  and  dentists. 

"  Do  not  think  anything  more  about  that,  my 
dear,"  I  said.  "  I  will  take  the  sign  down  in  the 


Rudder  Grange.  267 

morning.  We  are  here  to  enjoy  ourselves,  and 
not  to  be  worried." 

"And  yet,"  said  she,  "it  would  worry  me  to 
think  that  that  driver  frightened  us  into  taking 
down  the  sign.  I  tell  you  what  I  wish  you  would 
do.  Paint  out  those  names,  and  let  me  make  a 
sign.  Then  I  promise  you  I  will  not  be  worried." 

The  next  day,  therefore,  I  took  down  the  sign 
and  painted  out  my  inscriptions.  It  was  a  good 
deal  of  trouble,  for  my  letters  were  fresh,  but  it 
was  a  rainy  day,  and  I  had  plenty  of  time,  and  suc 
ceeded  tolerably  well.  Then  I  gave  Euphemia 
the  black-paint  pot  and  the  freedom  of  the  sign. 

I  went  down  to  the  creek  to  try  a  little  fishing 
in  wet  weather,  and  when  I  returned  the  new  sign 
was  done.  On  one  side  it  read  : 

FLIES' 

AND 
WASPS' 
HOTEL. 


On  the  other : 


HUNDRED-LEGGERS* 
AND 

RED-ANTS' 

HOUSE. 


268  Rudder  Grange. 

"  You  see,"  said  Euphemla,  "  if  any  individuals 
mentioned  thereon  apply  for  accommodation,  we 
can  say  we  are  full." 

This  sign  hung  triumphantly  for  several  days, 
when  one  morning,  just  as  we  had  finished  break 
fast,  we  were  surprised  to  hear  the  stage  stop  at 
the  door,  and  before  we  could  go  out  to  see  who 
had  arrived,  into  the  room  came  our  own  stage- 
driver,  as  we  used  to  call  him.  He  had  actually 
left  his  team  to  come  and  see  us. 

"  I  just  thought  I'd  stop  an'  tell  ye,"  said  he, 
"  that  ef  ye  don't  look  out,  Bill  '11  get  ye  inter 
trouble.  He's  bound  to  git  the  best  o'  ye,  an'  I 
heared  this  mornin',  at  Lowry's,  that  he's  agpin'  to 
bring  the  county  clerk  up  here  to-morrow,  to  see 
about  yer  license  fur  keepin'  a  hotel.  He  says  ye 
keep  changin'  yer  signs,  but  that  don't  differ  to 
him,  for  he  kin  prove  ye've  kept  travelers  over 
night,  an'  ef  ye  haven't  got  no  license  he'll  make 
the  county  clerk  come  down  on  ye  heavy,  I'm  sure 
o'  that,  fur  I  know  Bill.  An'  so,  I  thought  I'd  stop 
an'  tell  ye." 

I  thanked  him,  and  admitted  that  this  was  a 
rather  serious  view  of  the  case.  Euphemia  pon 
dered  a  moment.  Then  said  she  : 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  should  stay  here  any 
longer.  It's  going  to  rain  again,  and  our  vacation 
is  up  to-morrow,  anyway.  Could  you  wait  a  little 
while,  while  we  pack  up  ?  "  she  said  to  the  driver 


Rudder  Grange.  269 

"  Oh  yes  !  he  replied.  "  I  kin  wait,  as  well  as 
not.  I've  only  got  one  passenger,  an'  he's  on  top, 
a-holdjn'  the  horses.  He  aint  in  any  hurry,  I 
know,  an'  I'm  ahead  o'  time." 

In  less  than  twenty  minutes  we  had  packed  our 
trunk,  locked  up  the  house,  and  were  in  the  stage, 
and,  as  we  drove  away,  we  cast  a  last  admiring  look 
at  Euphemia's  sign,  slowly  swinging  in  the  wind.  I 
would  much  like  to  know  if  it  is  swinging  there  yet. 
I  feel  certain  there  has  been  no  lack  of  custom. 

We  stopped  at  Mrs.  Carson's,  paid  her  what  we 
owed  her,  and  engaged  her  to  go  up  to  the  tavern 
and  put  things  in  order.  She  was  very  sorry  we 
were  going,  but  hoped  we  would  come  back  again 
some  "other  summer.  We  said  that  it  was  quite 
possible  that  we  might  do  so  ;  but  that,  next  time, 
we  did  not  think  we  would  try  to  have  a  tavern  of 
our  own. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  BABY  AT  RUDDER  GRANGE. 

FOR  some  reason,  not  altogether  understood  by 
me,  there  seemed  to  be  a  continued  series  of  new 
developments  at  our  home.  I  had  supposed,  when 
the  events  spoken  of  in  the  last  chapter  had  set 
tled  down  to  their  proper  places  in  our  little  his 
tory,  that  our  life  would  flow  on  in  an  even,  com 
monplace  way,  with  few  or  no  incidents  worthy 
of  being  recorded.  But  this  did  not  prove  to  be 
the  case.  After  a  time,  the  uniformity  and  quiet  of 
our  existence  was  considerably  disturbed. 

This  disturbance  was  caused  by  a  baby,  not  a 
rude,  imperious  baby,  but  a  child  who  was  gener 
ally  of  a  quiet  and  orderly  turn  of  mind.  But  it 
disarranged  all  our  plans  ;  all  our  habits ;  all  the 
ordinary  disposition  of  things. 

It  was  in  the  summer-time,  during  my  vacation, 
that  it  began  to  exert  its  full  influence  upon  us. 
A  more  unfortunate  season  could  not  have  been 
selected.  At  first,  I  may  say  that  it  did  not  exert 
its  full  influence  upon  inc.  I  was  away,  during  the 


Rtiddcr  Grange.  271 

day,  and,  in  the  evening,  its  influence  was  not  ex 
erted,  to  any  great  extent,  upon  anybody.  As  I 
have  said,  its  habits  were  exceedingly  orderly. 
But,  during  my  vacation,  the  things  came  to  pass 
which  have  made  this  chapter  necessary. 

I  did  not  intend  taking  a  trip.  As  in  a  former 
vacation,  I  proposed  staying  at  home  and  enjoying 
those  delights  of  the  country  which  my  business  in 
town  did  not  allow  me  to  enjoy  in  the  working 
weeks  and  months  of  the  year.  I  had  no  inten 
tion  of  camping  out,  or  of  doing  anything  of  that 
kind,  but  many  were  the  trips,  rides,  and  excur 
sions  I  had  planned. 

I  found,  however,  that  if  I  enjoyed  myself  in 
this  wise,  I  must  do  it,  for  the  most  part,  alone. 
It  was  not  that  Euphemia  could  not  go  with  me — 
there  was  really  nothing  to  prevent — it  was  simply 
that  she  had  lost,  for  the  time,  her  interest  in 
everything  except  that  baby. 

She  wanted  me  to  be  happy,  to  amuse  myself, 
to  take  exercise,  to  do  whatever  I  thought  was 
pleasant,  but  she,  herself,  was  so  much  engrossed 
with  the  child,  that  she  was  often  ignorant  of  what 
I  intended  to  do,  or  had  done.  She  thought  she 
was  listening  to  what  I  said  to  her,  but,  in  reality, 
she  was  occupied,  mind  and  body,  with  the  baby, 
or  listening  for  some  sound  which  should  indicate 
that  she  ought  to  go  and  be  occupied  with  it. 

I  would  often  say  to  her :  "  Why  can't  you  let 


2/2  Rudder  Grange. 

Pomona  attend  to  it  ?  You  surely  need  not  giv« 
up  your  whole  time  and  your  whole  mind  to  the 
child." 

Init  she  would  always  answer  that  Pomona  had 
a  great  many  things  to  do,  and  that  she  couldn't, 
at  all  times,  attend  to  the  baby.  Suppose,  for  in 
stance,  that  she  should  be  at  the  barn. 

I  once  suggested  that  a  nurse  should  be  pro 
cured,  but  at  this  she  laughed. 

"There  is  very  little  to  do,"  she  said,  "and  I 
really  like  to  do  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  but  you  spend  so  much  of  your 
time  in  thinking  how  glad  you  will  be  to  do  that 
little,  when  it  is  to  be  done,  that  you  can't  give 
me  any  attention,  at  all." 

"  Now  you  have  no  cause  to  say  that,"  she  ex 
claimed.  "  You  know  very  well ,  there  !  " 

and  away  she  ran.     It  had  just  begun  to  cry ! 

Naturally,  I  was  getting  tired  of  this.  I  could 
never  begin  a  sentence  and  feel  sure  that  I  would 
be  allowed  to  finish  it.  Nothing  was  important 
enough  to  delay  attention  to  an  infantile  whim 
per. 

Jonas,  too,  was  in  a  state  of  unrest.  He  was 
obliged  to  wear  his  good  clothes,  a  great  part  of 
the  time,  for  he  was  continually  going  on  errands 
to  the  village,  and  these  errands  were  so  impor 
tant  that  they  took  precedence  of  everything  else. 
It  gave  me  a  melancholy  sort  of  pleasure,  some- 


Rudder  Grange.  273 

times,  to  do  Jonas's  work  when  he  was  thus  sent 
away. 

I  asked  him,  one  day,  how  he  liked  it  all  ? 
"  Well,"  said  he,  reflectively,  "  I  can't  say  as  I 
[understand  it,  exactly.     It  does  seem  queer  to  me 
that  such  a  little  thing  should  take  up  pretty  nigh 
all  the  time  of  three  people.     I  suppose,  after  a 
[while,"  this  he  said  with  a  grave  smile,  "  that  you 
lay  be  wanting  to  turn  in  and  help."     I  did  not 
nake  any  answer  to  this,  for  Jonas  was,  at  that 
noment,  summoned  to  the  house,  but  it  gave  me 
in  idea.     In  fact,  it  gave  me  two  ideas. 

The  first  was  that  Jonas's  remark  was  not  entirely 
[espectfuL     He  was  my  hired  man,  but  he  was  a 
rery  respectable  man,  and  an  American  man,  and 
icrefore   might   sometimes   be   expected  to    say 
things  which  a  foreigner,  not  known  to  be  respect- 
Fable,  would  not  think  of  saying,  if  he  wished  to 
keep  his  place.     The  fact  that  Jonas  had   always 
been  very  careful  to  treat  me  with  much  civility, 
caused  this  remark  to  make  more  impression  on 
me.     I  felt  that  he  had,  in  a  measure,  reason  for 
it. 

The  other  idea  was  one  which  grew  and  devel 
oped  in  my  mind  until  I  afterward  formed  a  plan 
upon  it.  I  determined,  however,  before  I  carried 
out  my  plan,  to  again  try  to  reason  with  Euphemia. 
"  If  it  was  our  own  baby,"  I  said,  "  or  even  the 
child  of  one  of  us,  by  a  former  marriage,  it  would 


2/.\  Rudder  Grange. 

be  a  different  thing;  but  to  give  yourself  up  so  en 
tirely  to  Pomona's  baby,  seems,  to  me,  unreasona 
ble.  Indeed,  I  never  heard  of  any  case  exactly 
like  it.  It  is  reversing  all  the  usages  of  society  for 
the  mistress  to  take  care  of  the  servant's  baby." 

"  The  usages  of  society  are  not  worth  much, 
sometimes,"  said  Euphemia,  "  and  you  must  re 
member  that  Pomona  is  a  very  different  kind  of  a 
person  from  an  ordinary  servant.  She  is  much 
more  like  a  member  of  the  family — I  can't  exactly 
explain  what  kind  of  a  member,  but  I  understand 
it  myself.  She  has  very  much  improved  since  she 
has  been  married,  and  you  know,  yourself,  how 
quiet  and — and,  nice  she  is,  and  as  for  the  baby. 
it's  just  as  good  and  pretty  as  any  baby,  and  it 
may  grow  up  to  be  better  than  any  of  us.  Some 
of  our  presidents  have  sprung  from  lowly  parents." 

"  But  this  one  is  a  girl,"  I  said. 

"  Well  then,"  replied  Euphemia,  "  she  may  be  a 
i  dent's  wife." 

••  Another  thing,"  I  remarked,  "  I  don't  believe 
Jonas  and  Pomona  like  your  keeping  their  baby  so 
much  to  yourself." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Euphemia,  "a  girl  in  Po 
mona's  position  couldn't  help  being  glad  to  have 
a  lady  take  an  interest  in  her  baby,  and  help  bring 
it  up.  And  as  for  Jonas,  he  would  be  a  cruel  man 
if  he  wasn't  pleased  and  grateful  to  have  his  wife 
relieved  of  so  much  trouble.  Pomona  J  Is  that 


Rudder  Grange.  275 

you  ?  You  can  bring  it  here,  now,  if  you  want  to 
get  at  your  clear-starching." 

I  don't  believe  that  Pomona  hankered  after 
clear-starching,  but  she  brought  the  baby  and  I 
went  away.  I  could  not  see  any  hope  ahead.  Of 
course,  in  time,  it  would  grow  up,  but  then  it 
couldn't  grow  up  during  my  vacation. 

Then  it  was  that  I  determined  to  carry  out  my 
plan. 

I  went  to  the  stable  and  harnessed  the  horse  to 
the  little  carriage.  Jonas  was  not  there,  and  I  had 
fallen  out  of  the  habit  of  calling  him.  I  drove 
slowly  through  the  yard  and  out  of  the  gate.  No 
one  called  to  me  or  asked  where  I  was  going. 
How  different  this  was  from  the  old  times  !  Then, 
some  one  would  not  have  failed  to  know  where  I 
was  going,  and,  in  all  probability,  she  would  have 
gone  with  me.  But  now  I  drove  away,  quietly 
and  undisturbed. 

About  three  miles  from  our  house  was  a  settle 
ment  known  as  New  Dublin.  It  was  a  cluster  of 
poor  and  doleful  houses,  inhabited  entirely  by 
Irish  people,  whose  dirt  and  poverty  seemed  to 
make  them  very  contented  and  happy.  The  men 
were  generally  away,  at  their  work,  during  the 
day,  but  there  was  never  any  difficulty  in  finding 
some  one  at  home,  no  matter  at  what  house  one 
called.  I  was  acquainted  with  one  of  the  matrons 
of  this  locality,  a  Mrs.  Duffy,  who  had  occasion- 


276  Rudder  Grange. 

ally  undertaken  some  odd  jobs  at  our  house,  and 
to  her  I  made  a  visit. 

She  was  glad  to  see  me,  and  wiped  off  a  chair 
for  me. 

"  Mrs.  Duffy,"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  rent  a  baby." 

At  first,  the  good  woman  could  not  understand 
me,  but  when  I  made  plain  to  her  that  I  wished 
for  a  short  time,  to  obtain  the  exclusive  use  and 
control  of  a  baby,  for  which  I  was  willing  to  pay 
a  liberal  rental,  she  burst  into  long  and  violent 
laughter.  It  seemed  to  her  like  a  person  coming 
into  the  country  to  purchase  weeds.  Weeds  and 
children  were  so  abundant  in  New  Dublin.  But 
she  gradually  began  to  see  that  I  was  in  earnest, 
and  as  she  knew  I  was  a  trusty  person,  and  some 
what  noted  for  the  care  I  took  of  my  live  stock, 
she  was  perfectly  willing  to  accommodate  me,  but 
feared  she  had  nothing  on  hand  of  the  age  I  de 
sired. 

"Me  childther  are  all  agoin'  about,"  she  said. 
"  Ye  kin  see  a  poile  uv  'em  out  yon,  in  the  road, 
an'  there's  more  uv  'em  on  the  fince.  But  ye  nade 
have  no  fear  about  gittin'  wan.  There's  sthacks 
of  'em  in  the  place.  I'll  jist  run  over  to  Mrs. 
Hogan's,  wid  ye.  She's  got  sixteen  or  siventeen, 
mostly  small,  for  Hogan  brought  four  or  five  wid 
him  when  he  married  her,  an'  she'll  be  glad  to  rint 
wan  uv  'em."  So,  throwing  her  apron  over  her 
,  she  accompanied  me  to  Mrs.  Hogan's. 


Rudder  Grange.  277 

That  lady  was  washing,  but  she  cheerfully 
stopped  her  work  while  Mrs.  Duffy  took  her  to 
one  side  and  explained  my  errand.  Mrs.  Hogan 
did  not  appear  to  be  able  to  understand  why  I 
wanted  a  baby — especially  for  so  limited  a  period, 
— but  probably  concluded  that  if  I  would  take 
good  care  of  it  and  would  pay  well  for  it,  the  mat 
ter  was  my  own  affair,  for  she  soon  came  and  said, 
that  if  I  wanted  a  baby,  I'd  come  to  the  right 
place.  Then  she  began  to  consider  what  one  she 
would  let  me  have.  I  insisted  on  a  young  one — 
there  was  already  a  little  baby  at  our  house,  and 
ihe  folks  there  would  know  how  to  manage  it. 

"  Oh,  ye  want  it  fer  coompany  for  the  ither  one, 
is  that  it?  "  said  Mrs.  Hogan,  a  new  light  break 
ing  in  upon  her.  "  An'  that's  a  good  plan,  sure. 
It  must  be  dridful  lownly  in  a  house  wid  ownly 
wan  baby.  Now  there's  one — Polly — would  she 
do  ?" 

"  Why,  she  can  run,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  want  one 
that  can  run." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hogan,  with  a  sigh, 
"  they  all  begin  to  run,  very  airly.  Now  Polly 
isn't  owld,  at  all,  at  all." 

"  I  can  see  that,"  said  I,  "  but  I  want  one  that 
you  can  put  in. a  cradle — one  that  will  have  to 
stay  there,  when  you  put  it  in." 

It;  was  plain  that  Mrs.  Hogan's  present  stock 
did  not  contain  exactly  what  I  wanted,  and  di' 


278  Rudder  Grange. 

rectly  Mrs.  Duffy  exclaimed !  "  There's  Mary 
McCann—  an'  roight  across  the  way  !  " 

Mrs.  Hogan  said  :  "  Yis,  sure,"  and  we  all  went 
over  to  a  little  house,  opposite. 

"  Now,  thin,"  said  Mrs.  Duffy,  entering  the 
house,  and  proudly  drawing  a  small  coverlid  from 
a  little  box-bed  in  a  corner,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

"  Why,  there  are  two  of  them,"  I  exclaimed. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Duffy.  "They're 
tweens.  There's  always  two  uv  em,  when  they're 
tweens.  An'  they're  young  enough." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  doubtfully,  "but  I  couldn't  take 
both.  Do  you  think  their  mother  would  rent 
one  of  them  ?  " 

The  women  shook  their  heads.  "  Ye  see,  sir," 
said  Mrs.  Hogan,  "  Mary  McCann  isn't  here,  bein' 
gone  out  to  a  wash,  but  she  ownly  has  four  or  foive 
childther,  an'  she  aint  much  used  to  'em  yit,  an'  I 
kin  spake  fer  her  that  she'd  niver  siparate  a  pair 
o'  tweens.  When  she  gits  a  dozen  hersilf,  and 
marries  a  widow  jintleman  wid  a  lot  uv  his  own, 
she'll  be  glad  enough  to  be  lettin'  ye  have  yer 
pick,  to  take  wan  uv  'em  fer  coompany  to  yer  own 
baby,  at  foive  dollars  a  week.  Moind  that." 

I  visited  several  houses  after  this,  still  in  com 
pany  with  Mrs.  Hogan  and  Mrs.  Duffy,  and  finally 
secured  a  youngish  infant,  who,  having  been  left 
motherless,  had  become  wluit  Mrs.  Duffy  called  a 


Rudder  Grange.  279 

"  Dottle-baby,"  and  was  in  charge  of  a  neighbor 
ing  aunt.  It  seemed  strange  that  this  child,  so 
eminently  adapted  to  purposes  of  rental,  was  not 
offered  to  me,  at  first,  but  I  suppose  the  Irish  ladies, 
who  had  the  matter  in  charge,  wanted  to  benefit 
themselves,  or  some  of  their  near  friends,  be- 
lore  giving  the  general  public  of  New  Dublin  a 
chance. 

The  child  suited  me  very  well,  and  I  agreed  to 
take  it  for  as  many  days  as  I  might  happen  to 
want  it,  but  to  pay  by  the  week,  in  advance.  It 
was  a  boy,  with  a  suggestion  of  orange-red  bloom 
all  over  its  head,  and  what  looked,  to  me,  like 
freckles  on  its  cheeks ;  while  its  little  nose  turned 
up,  even  more  than  those  of  babies  generally  turn 
• — above  a  very  long  upper  lip.  His  eyes  were 
blue  and  twinkling,  and  he  had  the  very  mouth 
"  fer  a  leetle  poipe,"  as  Mrs.  Hogan  admiringly 
remarked. 

He  was  hastily  prepared  for  his  trip,  and  when 
I  had  arranged  the  necessary  business  matters  with 
his  aunt,  and  had  assured  her  that  she  could  come 
to  see  him  whenever  she  liked,  I  got  into  the  car 
riage,  and  having  spread  the  lap-robe  over  my 
knees,  the  baby,  carefully  wrapped  in  a  little  shawl, 
was  laid  in  my  lap.  Then  his  bottle,  freshly  filled, 
for  he  might  need  a  drink  on  the  way,  was  tucked 
between  the  cushions  on  the  seat  beside  me,  and 
taking  the  lines  in  my  left  hand,  while  I  steadied 


280  Rudder  Grange. 

my  charge  with  the  other,  I  prepared  to  drive 
away. 

1 '  What's  his  name  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It's  Pat,"  said  his  aunt,  "  afther  his  dad,  who'* 
away  in  the  moines." 

"  But  ye  kin  call  him  onything  ye  loike,"  Mrs. 
Duffy  remarked,  "  fer  he  don't  ansther  to  his 
name  yit." 

"  Pat  will  do  very  well,"  I  said,  as  I  bade  the 
good  women  farewell,  and  carefully  guided  the 
horse  through  the  swarms  of  youngsters  who  had 
gathered  around  the  carriage. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  OTHER  BABY  AT  RUDDER  GRANGB. 

I  DROVE  slowly  home,  and  little  Pat  lay  very 
quiet,  looking  up  steadily  at  me  with  his  twinkling 
blue  eyes.  For  a  time,  everything  went  very  well, 
but  happening  to  look  up,  I  saw  in  the  distance  a 
carriage  approaching.  It  was  an  open  barouche, 
and  I  knew  it  belonged  to  a  family  of  our  acquain 
tance,  in  the  village,  and  that  it  usually  contained 
ladies. 

Quick  as  thought,  I  rolled  up  Pat  in  his  shawl 
and  stuffed  him  under  the  seat.  Then  rearranging 
the  lap-robe  over  my  knees,  I  drove  on,  trembling 
a  little,  it  is  true. 

As  I  supposed,  the  carriage  contained  ladies, 
and  I  knew  them  all.  The  coachman  instinctively 
drew  up,  as  we  approached.  We  always  stopped 
and  spoke,  on  such  occasions. 

They  asked  me  after  my  wife,  apparently  sur 
prised  to  see  me  alone,  and  made  a  number  of 
pleasant  observations,  to  all  of  which  I  replied 
with  as  unconcerned  and  easy  an  air  as  I  could 


282  Rudder  Grange. 

assume.  The  ladies  were  in  excellent  spirits,  but 
in  spite  of  this,  there  seemed  to  be  an  air  of  repres 
sion  about  them,  which  I  thought  of  when  I  drove 
on,  but  could  not  account  for,  for  little  Pat  never 
moved  or  whimpered,  during  the  whole  of  the 
interview. 

But  when  I  took  him  again  in  my  lap,  and  hap 
pened  to  turn,  as  I  arranged  the  robe,  I  saw  his  bot 
tle  sticking  up  boldly  by  my  side  from  between  the 
cushions.  Then  I  did  not  wonder  at  the  repression. 

When  I  reached  home,  I  drove  directly  to  the 
barn.  Fortunately,  Jonas  was  there.  When  I 
called  him  and  handed  little  Pat  to  him  I  never 
saw  a  man  more  utterly  amazed.  He  stood,  and 
held  the  child  without  a  word.  But  when  I  ex 
plained  the  whole  affair  to  him,  he  comprehended 
it  perfectly,  and  was  delighted.  I  think  he  was 
just  as  anxious  for  my  plan  to  work  as  I  was  my 
self,  although  he  did  not  say  so. 

I  was  about  to  take  the  child  into  the  house, 
when  Jonas  remarked  that  it  was  barefooted. 

"That  won't  do,"  I  said.  "It  certainly  had 
socks  on,  when  I  got  it.  I  saw  them." 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Jonas,  fishing  them  out 
from  the  shawl,  "  he's  kicked  them  off." 

"  Well,  we  must  put  them  on,"  I  said,  "  it  won't 
do  to  take  him  in,  that  way.  You  hold  him." 

So  Jonas  sat  down  on  the  feed-box,  and  care 
fully  taking  little  Pat,  he  held  him  horizontally, 


Rudder  Grange.  283 

firmly  pressed  between  his  hands  and  knees,  with 
his  feet  stuck  out  toward  me,  while  I  knelt  down 
before  him  and  tried  to  put  on  the  little  socks. 
But  the  socks  were  knit  or  worked  very  loosely,' 
and  there  seemed  to  be  a  good  many  small  holes 
in  them,  so  that  Pat's  funny  little  toes,  which  he 
kept  curling  up  and  uncurling,  were  continually 
making  their  appearance  in  unexpected  places 
through  the  sock.  But,  after  a  great  deal  of  trou 
ble,  I  got  them  both  on,  with  the  heels  in  about 
the  right  places. 

"  Now  they  ought  to  be  tied  on,"  I  said, 
"  Where  are  his  garters?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  babies  have  garters,"  said  Jo 
nas,  doubtfully,  "  but  I  could  rig  him  up  a  pair." 

"  No,"  said  I  ;  "we  wont  take  the  time  for  that. 
I'll  hold  his  legs  apart,  as  I  carry  him  in.  It's 
rubbing  his  feet  together  that  gets  them  off." 

As  I  passed  the  kitchen  window,  I  saw  Pomona 
at  work.  She  looked  at  me,  dropped  something, 
and  I  heard  a  crash.  I  don't  know  how  much  that 
crash  cost  me.  Jonas  rushed  in  to  tell  Pomona 
about  it,  and  in  a  moment  I  heard  a  scream  of 
laughter.  At  this,  Euphemia  appeared  at  an  up 
per  window,  with  her  hand  raised  and  saying,  se 
verely :  "Hush-h!"  But  the  moment  she  saw 
me,  she  disappeared  from  the  window  and  came 
down-stairs  on  the  run.  She  met  me,  just  as  I 
entered  the  dining-room. 


284  Rudder  Grange. 

"What  in  the  world!"  she  breathlessly  ex« 
claimed. 

"  This,"  said  I,  taking  Pat  into  a  better  position 
in  my  arms,  4<  is  my  baby." 

"  Your — baby  !  "  said  Kuphemia.  "  Where  did 
you  get  it  ?  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  got  it  in  New  Dublin,"  I  replied,  "  and  I 
want  it  to  amuse  and  occupy  me  while  I  am  at 
home.  I  haven't  anything  else  to  do,  except  things 
that  take  me  away  from  you." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Euphemia. 

At  this  moment,  little  Pat  gave  his  first  whimper. 
Perhaps  he  felt  the  searching  glance  that  fell  upon 
him  from  the  lady  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

I  immediately  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
floor  with  him,  and  to  sing  to  him.  I  did  no: 
know  any  infant  music,  but  I  felt  sure  that  a 
soothing  tune  was  the  great  requisite,  and  that 
the  words  were  of  small  importance.  So  I  started 
on  an  old  Methodist  tune,  which  I  remembered 
very  well,  and  which  was  used  with  the  hymn  con 
taining  the  lines  : 

"  Weak  and  wounded,  sick  and  sore," 
and  T  sang,  as  soothingly  as  I  could  : 

"Lit-tle  Pat-sy,  Wat-sy,  Sat-sy, 
Does  he  feel  a  lit-ty  bad  ? 
Me  will  send  and  get  his  bot-tle 
He  sha'n't  have  to  cry-wy-wy." 


Rudder  Grange.  28$ 

"  What  an  idiot !  "  said  Euphemia,  laughing  in 
spite  of  her  vexation. 

"  No,  we  aint  no  id-i-otses 

What  we  want's  a  bot-ty  mik." 

So  I  sang  as  I  walked  to  the  kitchen  door,  and 
sent  Jonas  to  the  barn  for  the  bottle. 

Pomona  was  in  spasms  of  laughter  in  the  kitch 
en,  and  Euphemia  was  trying  her  best  not  to  laugh 
at  all. 

"  Who's  going  to  take  care  of  it,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  "  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  could  get  herself 
into  a  state  of  severe  inquiry. 

"  Some-times  me,  and  some-times  Jonas," 

I  sang,  still  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with 
a  long,  slow  step,  swinging  the  baby  from  side  to 
side,  very  much  as  if  it  were  grass-seed  in  a  sieve, 
and  I  were  sowing  it  over  the  carpet. 

When  the  bottle  came,  I  took  it,  and  began  to 
feed  little  Pat.  Perhaps  the  presence  of  a  critical 
and  interested  audience  embarrassed  us,  for  Jonas 
and  Pomona  were  at  the  door,  with  streaming 
eyes,  while  Euphemia  stood  with  her  handkerchief 
to  the  lower  part  of  her  face,  or  it  may  have  been 
that  I  did  not  understand  the  management  of  bot 
tles,  but,  at  any  rate,  I  could  not  make  the  thing 
work,  and  the  disappointed  little  Pat  began  to 


286  Rudder  Grange. 

cry,  just  as  the  whole  of  our  audience  burst  into  a 
wild  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Here  !  Give  me  that  child  !  "  cried  Euphcmia, 
forcibly  taking  Pat  and  the  bottle  from  me. 
41  You'll  make  it  swallow  the  whole  affair,  and  I'm 
sure  its  mouth's  big  enough." 

"You  really  don't  think,"  she  said,  when  we 
were  alone,  and  little  Pat,  with  his  upturned  blue 
eyes  serenely  surveying  the  features  of  the  good 
lady  who  knew  how  to  feed  him,  was  placidly 
pulling  away  at  his  india-rubber  tube,  "  that  I  will 
consent  to  your  keeping  such  a  creature  as  this  in 
the  house  ?  Why,  he's  a  regular  little  Paddy ! 
If  you  kept  him  he'd  grow  up  into  a  hod-carrier." 

"Good!"  said  I.  "I  never  thought  of  that. 
What  a  novel  thing  it  would  be  to  witness  the 
gradual  growth  of  a  hod-carrier  !  I'll  make  him  a 
little  hod,  now,  to  begin  with.  He  couldn't  have 
a  more  suitable  toy." 

"  I  was  talking  in  earnest,"  she  said.  "  Take 
your  baby,  and  please  carry  him  home  as  quick 
as  you  can,  for  I  am  certainly  not  going  to  take 
care  of  him." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  I.  "Now  that  I  see  how 
it's  done,  I'm  going  to  do  it  myself.  Jonas  will 
mix  his  feed  and  I  will  give  it  to  him.  He  looks 
sleepy  now.  Shall  I  take  him  upstairs  and  lay 
him  on  our  bed  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  cried  Euphcmia.   "  You  can  put 


Rudder  Grange.  287 

him  on  a  quilt  on  the  floor,  until  after  luncheon, 
and  then  you  must  take  him  home." 

I  laid  the  young  Milesian  on  the  folded  quilt 
which  Euphemia  prepared  for  him,  where  he  turned 
up  his  little  pug  nose  to  the  ceiling  and  went  con 
tentedly  to  sleep. 

That  afternoon  I  nailed  four  legs  on  a  small 
packing-box  and  made  a  bedstead  for  him.  This, 
with  a  pillow  in  the  bottom  of  it,  was  very  com 
fortable,  and  instead  of  taking  him  home,  I  bor 
rowed,  in  the  evening,  some  baby  night-clothes 
from  Pomona,  and  set  about  preparing  Pat  for  the 
night. 

This  Euphemia  would  not  allow,  but  silently 
taking  him  from  me,  she  put  him  to  bed. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said,  "you  must  positively 
take  him  away.  I  wont  stand  it.  And  in  our 
room,  too." 

"  I  didn't  talk  in  that  way  about  the  baby  you 
adopted,"  I  said. 

To  this  she  made  no  answer,  but  went  away  to 
attend,  as  usual,  to  Pomona's  baby,  while  its  mother 
washed  the  dishes. 

That  night  little  Pat  woke  up,  several  times,  and 
made  things  unpleasant  by  his  wails.  On  the  first 
two  occasions,  I  got  up  and  walked  him  about, 
singing  impromptu  lines  to  the  tune  of  "  weak  and 
wounded,"  but  the  third  time,  Euphemia  herself 
arose,  and  declaring  that  that  doleful  tune  was  a 


288  Rudder  Grange. 

great  deal  worse  than  the  baby's  crying,  silenced 
him  herself,  and  arranging  his  couch  more  com 
fortably,  he  troubled  us  no  more. 

In  the  morning,  when  I  beheld  the  little  pad  of 
orange  fur  in  the  box,  my  heart  almost  misgave 
me,  but  as  the  day  wore  on,  my  courage  rose 
again,  and  I  gave  myself  up,  almost  entirely,  to  my 
new  charge,  composing  a  vast  deal  of  blank  verse, 
while  walking  him  up  and  down  the  house. 

Euphemia  scolded  and  scolded,  and  said  she 
would  put  on  her  hat  and  go  for  the  mother.  But 
I  told  her  the  mother  was  dead,  and  that  seemed 
to  be  an  obstacle.  She  took  a  good  deal  of  care 
of  the  child,  for  she  said  she  would  not  see  an  in 
nocent  creature  neglected,  even  if  it  was  an  incipi 
ent  hod-carrier,  but  she  did  not  relax  in  the  least 
in  her  attention  to  Pomona's  baby. 

The  next  day  was  about  the  same,  in  regard  to 
infantile  incident,  but,  on  the  day  after,  I  began  to 
tire  of  my  new  charge,  and  Pat,  on  his  side,  seemed 
to  be  tired  of  me,  for  he  turned  from  me  when  I 
went  to  take  him  up,  while  he  would  hold  out  his 
hands  to  Euphemia,  and  grin  delightedly  when  she 
took  him. 

That  morning  I  drove  to  the  village  and  spent 
an  hour  or  two  there.  On  my  return  I  found 
Euphemia  sitting  in  our  room,  with  little  Pat  on 
her  lap.  I  was  astonished  at  the  change  in  the 
young  rascal.  He  was  dressed,  from  head  to  foot. 


Rudder  Grange.  289 

in  a  suit  of  clothes  belonging  to  Pomona's  baby ; 
the  glowing  fuzz  on  his  head  was  brushed  and 
made  as  smooth  as  possible,  while  his  little  muslin 
sleeves  were  tied  up  with  blue  ribbon. 

I  stood  speechless  at  the  sight. 

"  Don't  he  look  nice  ?  "  said  Euphemia,  standing 
him  up  on  her  knees.  "  It  shows  what  good 
clothes  will  do.  I'm  glad  I  helped  Pomona  make 
up  so  many.  He's  getting  ever  so  fond  of  me,  ze 
itty  Patsy,  watsy  !  See  how  strong  he  is !  He  can 
almost  stand  on  his  legs  !  Look  how  he  laughs  ! 
He's  just  as  cunning  as  he  can  be.  And  oh  !  I 
was  going  to  speak  about  that  box.  I  wouldn't 
have  him  sleep  in  that  old  packing-box.  There 
are  little  wicker  cradles  at  the  store — I  saw  them 
iast  week — they  don't  cost  much,  and  you  could 
bring  one  up  in  the  carriage.  There's  the  other 
baby,  crying,  and  I  don't  know  where  Pomona  is. 
Just  you  mind  him  a  minute,  please  !  "  and  out  she 
ran. 

I  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  horse  still 
stood  harnessed  to  the  carriage,  as  I  had  left  him. 
I  saw  Pat's  old  shawl  lying  in  a  corner.  •  I  seized 
it,  and  rolling  him  in  it,  new  clothes  and  all,  I  hur 
ried  down-stairs,  climbed  into  the  carriage,  hastily 
disposed  Pat  in  my  lap,  and  turned  the  horse. 
The  demeanor  of  the  youngster  was  very  different 
from  what  it  was  when  I  first  took  him  in  my  lap 
ID  drive  away  with  him.  There  was  no  confiding 

13 


/ox>  Rudder  Grange. 

twinkle  in  his  eye,  no  contented  munching  of  his 
little  fists.  He  gazed  up  at  me  with  wild  alarm, 
and  as  I  drove  out  of  the  gate,  he  burst  forth  into 
such  a  yell  that  Lord  Edward  came  bounding 
around  the  house  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
Ktiphemia  suddenly  appeared  at  an  upper  window 
and  called  out  to  me,  but  I  did  not  hear  what  she 
said  I  whipped  up  the  horse  and  we  sped  along 
to  New  Dublin.  Pat  soon  stopped  crying,  but  he 
looked  at  me  with  a  tear-stained  and  reproachful 
visage. 

The  good  women  of  the  settlement  were  sur 
prised  to  see  little  Pat  return  so  soon. 

"  An'  wasn't  he  good  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hogan  as  she 
took  him  from  my  hands. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  I  said.  "  He  was  as  good  as  he 
could  be.  But  I  have  no  further  need  of  him." 

I   might  have  been  called  upon  to  explain  this 
statement,  had  not  the  whole  party  of  women,  who 
stood  around,  burst  into  wild   expressions  of  de 
light  at  Pat's  beautiful  clothes. 

"  Oh  !  jist  look  at  'em  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Duffy. 
"  An'  sec  thim  lectle  pittycoots,  thrimmed  wid  lace ! 
Oh,  an'  it  was  good  in  ye,  sir,  to  give  him  all  thim, 
an'  pay  the  foive  dollars,  too." 

"  An'  I'm  glad  he's  back,"  said  the  fostering 
aunt,  "  for  I  was  a  coomin'  over  to  till  ye  that  I've 
been  hcarin'  from  owle  Pat,  his  dad,  an'  he's  a 
coomin'  back  from  the  moines,  and  I  don't  know 


Rudder  Grange.  291 

what  he'd  a'  said  if  he'd  found  .his  leetle  Pat  was 
rinted.  But  if  ye  iver  want  to  borry  him,  for  a 
whoile,  after  owle  Pat's  gone  back,  ye  kin  have 
him,  rint-free ;  an'  it's  much  obloiged  I  am  to  ye, 
sir,  fur  dressin'  him  so  foine." 

I  made  no  encouraging  remarks  as  to  future 
transactions  in  this  line,  and  drove  slowly  home. 

Euphemia  met  me  at  the  door.  She  had  Po 
mona's  baby  in  her  arms.  We  walked  together 
into  the  parlor. 

"  And  so  you  have  given  up  the  little  fellow 
that  you  were  going  to  do  so  much  for  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  have  given  him  up,"  I  answered. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  dreadful  trial  to  you  " 
rhe  continued. 

"  Oh,  dreadful  !  "  I  replied. 

"  I  suppose  you  thought  he  would  take  up  so 
much  of  your  time  and  thoughts,  that  we  couldn't 
be  to  each  other  what  we  used  to  be,  didn't  you  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Not  exactly,"  I  replied.  "  I  only  thought  that 
things  promised  to  be  twice  as  bad  as  they  were 
before."  \ 

She  made  no  answer  to  this,  but  going  to  the1 
back  door  of  the  parlor  she  opened  it  and  called 
Pomona.  When  that  young  woman  appeared, 
Euphemia  stepped  toward  her  and  said:  "Here, 
Pomona,  take  your  baby." 

They  were  simple  words,  but  they  were  spoken 


292  Rudder  Grange. 

in  such  a  way  that  they  meant  a  good  deal.  Po 
mona  knew  what  they  meant.  Her  eyes  sparkled, 
and  as  she  went  out,  I  saw  her  hug  her  child  to 
her  breast,  and  cover  it  with  kisses,  and  then, 
through  the  window,  I  could  see  her  running  to 
the  barn  and  Jonas. 

i;Now,  then,"  said  Euphemia,  closing  the  door 
and  coming  toward  me,  with  one  of  her  old  smiles, 
and  not  a  trace  of  preoccupation  about  her,  "I 
suppose  you  expect  me  to  devote  myself  to  you." 

I  did  expect  it,  and  I  was  not  mistaken. 

Since  these  even's,  a  third  baby  has  come  to 
Rudder  Grange.  It  is  not  Pomona's,  nor  was  it 
brought  from  New  Dublin.  It  is  named  after  a 
little  one,  who  died  very  young,  before  this  story 
was  begun,  and  the  strangest  thing  about  it  is  that 
never,  for  a  moment,  does  it  seem  to  come  between 
Euphemia  and  myselt, 


009  603  721   3 

"'iiiiiTr 

°01228218    2 


